


sing it from the heart

by fleurdeliser, tuesdaysgone



Series: OT3verse [9]
Category: Comics RPF, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-06
Updated: 2011-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurdeliser/pseuds/fleurdeliser, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/tuesdaysgone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Grant," Frank calls out, "something is staring at me in here. I think it might be a cat."</p>
            </blockquote>





	sing it from the heart

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [](http://ciel-vert.livejournal.com/profile)[**ciel_vert**](http://ciel-vert.livejournal.com/) for making this make sense. ♥

"Grant," Frank calls out, "something is staring at me in here. I think it might be a cat." It's ugly enough that it's hard to be sure.

From the kitchen he can hear Grant laugh. "Ah, that's probably Johnny Rotten. Ugly little pisser, isn't he? Found him in an alley near here. He fought the law and the law won. He loves me but hates most other living creatures. Just let him sniff you. He bites."

"So do I," Frank mutters, staring back at the supposed cat.

Several minutes later, Gerard yells out to Grant in the kitchen, his voice choked with laughter, "Grant, your ugly misfit rescued alley cat is grooming Frank. You gotta come see this."

Frank would flip them both off, but the mangy tomcat is curled around his hand in his lap, industriously attempting to clean the tattoos off of Frank's wrist, so he only has one hand. Frank isn't completely inexperienced with cats, but how rough their tongues are always surprises him. Frank tentatively runs a hand down the cat's back and is surprised by how soft he is, for how scruffy he looks. Johnny, apparently, starts purring. Frank _thinks_ that terrible noise coming from the animal in his lap is a purr. It certainly doesn’t sound like any sort of purring he’s heard before.

He's a little afraid to look away from the creature for fear of who knows what, but when he does, he doesn't regret it. Because Grant is giving him this look that makes Frank want to just keep doing whatever it is that's putting that look there for as long as he possibly can.

"Johnny's always tried to bite anybody but me who's attempted to pet him before. In fact, when people visit, he usually disappears and doesn't emerge for days after they leave." Grant leans down and kisses the top of Frank's head, then gives Johnny a skritch behind the ears.

The kettle starts whistling in the kitchen and Grant pulls back murmuring, "Be back in a moment." Gerard trails after him, while Frank turns his attention back to the cat. It's still licking at Frank's hand, and has started kneading, his claws breaking through Frank's jeans and pricking his legs. But Frank has had worse and he figures the cat is happy, which makes Grant happy, so Frank doesn't much mind.

Gerard and Grant come back into the room bearing coffee and tea and a plate of cookies and Frank realizes he has to get his hand back from Johnny.

"Okay, dude," Frank says to the cat, "You can stay on my lap, I don't mind, but I kind of want my hand back, okay?" He's a little nervous that Johnny will decide to bite him now, but he lets Frank pull his hand away and curls up in a ball while Frank takes the tea Grant gives him. Grant still has that look on his face from earlier. It makes Frank feel warmer than any tea ever will.

This is by no means the first time Frank has been in Grant’s living room. He’s been here for a couple of what turned out to be truly wild parties, for intimate dinners, he’s even been here for tea before. But the room feels different to him now. It all feels more familiar, more comfortable. Frank finds himself wanting to know about everything, more than he did before, anyway. Why did Grant choose this particular picture for his wall? Or why does that memento get a place of pride on the shelf? He’s noticing things about it that he didn’t before, too. Like the cat scratchers cleverly tucked into various places where they’re not too noticeable. Or how the light plays around the room with the sun setting through the bank of windows looking out over the valley. It makes Frank’s fingers itch for his camera. Since he didn’t bring it with him, he drinks his tea and pets Johnny.

He’s what’s different, Frank realizes. Him, and how he feels about Grant. In the space of three months, it’s all changed. Gotten tangled with the way he feels about Gerard, which is an area that is a little scary in how much it already encompasses. He’s not nervous about it, though, just - letting himself feel it.

Grant’s been writing. After he left their house - reluctantly, after spending the rest of Friday and half of Saturday morning in bed - he must have gone straight to work and not stopped, because they haven’t heard a word from him in two days. He’s looking rumpled and tired in a long-sleeved tee with the sleeves shoved up, and he’s got pens sticking out of the back pocket of his pants.

“How’s writing?” Gerard asks him, because he’s apparently just going to narrate Frank’s inner monologue today. Scary thought.

Grant rubs a hand over his face, tugs Gerard closer to him on the couch. “I’m right on schedule. Ahead, perhaps, since I had several conference calls this morning as well. I’m glad you’re here.” He tugs at the hair tangled behind Gerard’s ear.

“You’d be working right now if we weren’t here,” Gerard teases.

“I might. Or I might be making tea and talking to the cats. They’re quite good company but they don’t talk back.”

“They may not talk, but they’re loud,” Frank puts in, eying Johnny warily. The tomcat is still in his lap, still making the occasional strangled purr when Frank scratches behind his ears.

“I can’t believe he’s still there. Johnny, you blighter.” Grant gets up from the couch, crosses to Frank’s chair and lifts the cat off his lap. Frank doesn’t miss the kiss he presses to Johnny’s head as he sets Johnny on the floor. Grant tugs Frank to his feet and over to the couch.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I pick the wrong piece of furniture?” Frank raises an eyebrow as he settles in between them.

Grant stretches to snag Frank’s teacup and hands it to him. “For me to see you both while you talk, yes.” And talk they do, until they’ve emptied the pot of tea and Gerard has done a number on the carafe of coffee next to it. Frank doesn’t eat much, though, and Grant frowns at him after a while. “Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m fine,” Frank says. “Just my stomach, I -”

“He’s trying to eat better,” Gerard says, tugging Frank back against him and squeezing. “Keep healthy for tour.”

“No sweets?” Frank shakes his head. He hates his new diet sometimes. “Sorry, darling. I’ll make you a good dinner. By which I mean I will order it.” Grant grins. Frank can’t fucking help himself, he crawls into Grant’s lap, gets all up in his face to grin back.

“No cooking? Gerard, we gotta take back that Batman-patterned apron we got him for Christmas.” He shoots a look over his shoulder and Gerard is curled against the arm of the couch, smiling behind his hair.

“Batman? Bruce Wayne has a butler, Frank. You’d do better to make it Superman.” Grant’s face has shifted into his fucking distracting smirk.

Frank smushes his face dramatically into the back of the couch. “Superman. Fuck, Grant, don’t get me started on Superman. I hate Superman, and you made me like him, you asshole.”

“I can sense you’re disturbed by this. What ever can I do to make up for it?”

Frank narrows his eyes. “Oh. I have ideas.”

“I’m sure you do. I look forward to hearing them.”

Frank’s torn between kissing that smug smile off Grant’s face and listing all the ways Grant can redeem himself for making Superman worth reading about when a tabby cat hops up on the back of the couch and meows. Grant turns his head toward it and smiles. It meows again, more insistently.

“What do you want, Madeline?” Grant asks her, “I know you have food and water.” She meows again.

“Do you want to be introduced?” She licks her paw and stares at Grant. It’s kind of freaky. “Well all right, this is Frank.” Grant places a hand on Frank’s chest and reaches out to Gerard with the other, tugging him closer. “And this is Gerard.” The cat gives them both long looks. She doesn’t blink. And then she turns and jumps off the couch and stalks over to the windowsill across from them and hops up, staring outside.

“Cats are fucking weird,” Gerard murmurs, staring. Grant laughs and kisses his temple

“I do seem to have a particularly eccentric bunch at the moment. You’ve received Madeline’s seal of approval. She only ignores the people she likes,” Grant says with a happy smile.

Frank loves Grant’s smile. It was one of the first things he noticed after the shock of meeting Grant fucking Morrison wore off. He’d smiled broad and warm at Gerard about something and Frank distinctly remembers thinking that maybe a guy who could smile like that wasn’t quite so intimidating after all. The fact that Grant’s smile is now six inches from his face and Frank is part of the cause of it makes him feel a little giddy. He’s torn between staring and kissing the smile right off his face.

Kissing wins out. Frank puts a hand on Grant’s cheek and kisses the corner of his mouth where it quirks up. Grant immediately puts a hand on the back of his neck and pulls their mouths fully together. He curls his fingers into Frank’s hair and runs his tongue over Frank’s bottom lip; Frank opens his mouth. Grant’s fingers flex and Frank moans in the back of his throat. He hears Gerard make a pathetic little noise beside them and Frank has to pull back a little bit and laugh.

“You’re so fucking demanding,” he says and leans over to capture Gerard’s lips with his, cutting off anything he might have been about to say. Frank keeps the kiss light, but when he pulls back Grant leans in too, and they’re kissing dirty and so fucking hot right away. Watching them kiss has yet to get old and Frank really doesn’t think it ever will. Frank leans forward and places his mouth at the base of Grant’s neck, sucks at his collarbone, and kisses up his jaw, feeling the vibration of the noise Grant makes before shifting over to Gerard, running his teeth down the column of Gerard’s throat. Gerard gasps a little into Grant’s mouth, just like Frank knew he would. He’s about to suggest that maybe they should move this into Grant’s bedroom when his lap is invaded. Johnny immediately curls up in a ball mostly on Frank’s legs with his head resting on Grant’s stomach and starts purring. Frank stares down at him.

"Your attack cat, Grant," Frank says, "is he, like, tricking me into a false sense of security or something?"

Grant looks down too, and laughs, though he’s breathing kind of hard. "He _likes_ you," he says happily, rubbing a finger under the cat's chin. "Is he bothering you?"

"No, no," Frank hurries to say. "But I would like to be the sole occupant of your lap right at the moment. If you take my meaning."

Gerard clears his throat behind Frank. "Besides you, jackass," Frank adds. "Except I don't think we'd both fit."

"That's very uncreative of you," Gerard murmurs in his ear, and Grant laughs at them and moves Johnny Rotten to the arm of the couch so they can stand up.

"Show me some creativity, then. The cats can entertain themselves for a while."

Grant's bedroom is certainly not a room Frank's had occasion to visit before, and it is both more and less than he was expecting: thick carpet and dark-painted walls, a gratifyingly huge bed. Gerard is practically stepping on his heels, but he starts to drift off to inspect the artwork on the walls and Frank tugs him back. "Later," he says. He wouldn't mind a closer look himself, but it's not exactly the most interesting thing in the room right now. Not with Grant and Gerard here.

Gerard, since Frank stopped him from going into an inconveniently-timed art trance, has apparently decided to inspect Grant instead. As soon as Frank lets go of him he backs Grant into the door, but he's not touching, just looking. If they were any two other people, Frank would make fun of the dopey expressions on their faces, but they're his, and he can see the heat in their eyes. It starts a little curl of answering warmth in his chest.

"How creative do you want?" Frank asks.

Grant looks at him over Gerard's shoulder and smiles lazily. "Whatever you want, Frank. Direct us." If Grant's feeling lazy, Frank's not sure he wants to change that.

"I'd rather not," he says softly. "But - " He's looking around and stops, arrested by the view through an open door. "Oh."

"Oh?" Gerard echoes, and when Frank looks back he's twisted around to follow Frank's gaze. He narrows his eyes. "You are so predictable."

"Enlighten me," Grant says, looking curiously between them.

"Frank's about to blow his load over your shower," Gerard says.

"What a _great idea_ , Gee," Frank shoots back. But seriously. Grant's bathroom has one of those glassed-in showers with all the nozzles that Frank fucking covets, that they've never had time or occasion to install in their little old house. "That's it, take off your clothes. Both of you."

Frank wanders into the bathroom while Grant and Gerard undress. When he looks back at them, they’re having a moment. Gerard’s hands are on Grant’s sides and Grant is stroking Gerard’s bare shoulders. They’re gorgeous and Frank almost goes back out there to join them, but then he’d get distracted and they’d probably just end up in bed. Not that that would be a _problem_ , but Frank has other ideas.

He removes his clothes quickly, tosses them in a corner, and pulls open the door into the shower. It’s definitely big enough for three people. Frank’s pretty sure one of his childhood bedrooms was about the same size. There are multiple knobs and buttons and Frank slowly twists one, a little worried he’s going to get a face full of cold water, but he gets lucky and it’s for a nozzle facing away from him. He puts his hand under the stream of water and waits for it to warm up before he starts turning more nozzles and pushing all the buttons.

He just stands there, feeling the spray coming from all around him and god, this is the best thing ever. His eyes slip closed and he just basks in the feel of it. And it just gets better when Gerard and Grant join him. Gerard wraps his arms around Frank from behind and rests his forehead against the back of Frank’s neck. Grant frames Frank’s face with his hands and leans down to kiss him slow and thoroughly.

When he pulls back, he smiles wickedly at Frank and brings their hips together. “You weren’t exaggerating about how much he loves showers, Gerard.”

Gerard chuckles into Frank’s neck and lifts his head. “Nope.” Gerard rubs his own erection against Frank’s ass and it’s tempting to just stay like this, caught between the two of them, but he really wants to do something else. He drops to his knees and pulls Gerard and Grant around so he can easily reach them both, takes Grant’s cock into his mouth and sucks. The water is still coming at him from all directions, getting in his mouth and up his nose, filling his ears with white noise, but he doesn’t care.

After a while, Frank lets Grant’s cock slip out of his mouth and leans over to Gerard. He hears Grant make a small moaning sound as he runs his tongue over the head of Gerard’s cock and has a hard time not smirking. Then Gerard makes the same noise.

“Fuck, Frankie,” Gerard groans. “You’re so fucking beautiful on your knees.” After a minute, he runs his fingers into Frank’s wet hair and pulls him off and pushes his mouth back toward Grant. Frank takes Grant’s cock back in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head like he’d done to Gerard and then swallowing down as much as he can.

“He’s right,” Grant echoes with a moan. “Fucking beautiful.”

Frank switches back to Gerard and then back to Grant. It’s got to be frustrating as hell, but he can’t make up his mind to stay in any one place. His own dick is fucking throbbing, rivulets of water trickling down his body, down theirs. His hands skid on their slick skin when he shifts his grip and he can’t get enough of either of them and it doesn’t seem like they can, either. He can feel them shifting above him, maybe kissing, he can’t see, and hands are touching him where they can reach. He doesn’t know whose, but fingers twist in his hair and then Gerard says, “Finish him off, Frankie.”

So Frank does. He takes Grant deep and swallows around him, pulling back to use his tongue, and when Grant starts thrusting gently into his mouth Frank moans and tugs on Grant’s hips, encouraging him to just go for it, to fuck his mouth like he’s been wanting, like Frank’s been wanting. He opens his mouth, relaxes his throat, and holds on. It doesn’t take long before Grant thrusts one last time and comes with a moan, pulling back enough so Frank can swallow. His mouth feels raw and used and he’s kind of thrilled.

Frank pulls off Grant’s cock reluctantly and leans to take Gerard’s cock down right away, still relishing in the taste of Grant’s come, the sharper taste of water and of Gerard and the feel of Gerard’s cock between his swollen lips. Gerard can’t hold out long before his hips are stuttering and he’s fucking Frank’s mouth too, wrapping his fingers in Frank’s hair and holding on. Frank just moans and opens for him. A few seconds later, Gerard comes, holding Frank on his cock by the hair, as if that was necessary. It’s not, but it’s fucking hot. Frank swallows and pulls back, resting his forehead on Gerard’s thigh.

That doesn’t last long before hands are pulling him up between them. This time the positions are reversed, with Grant behind him and Gerard in front. Both of them are running their hands over every inch of Frank’s body that they can reach, except his cock because they’re fucking sadists, but fuck, he hopes they never stop touching him. Frank’s a quivering mess by the time Grant finally wraps his hand around Frank’s cock and starts jacking him off.

Gerard kisses him, licking everything that remains of his own come out of Frank’s mouth and then leaning up over Frank’s shoulder to kiss Grant. Frank can’t hold back any longer and Grant gives his cock one last pull before Frank is coming all over Gerard’s belly. He gasps against Gerard’s neck and shudders into stillness for just a moment. Then he sets his hands on Gerard’s shoulders and pushes him back into the spray, reaching for a bar of soap in a niche.

He smooths suds all over Gerard, his arms, chest, belly, thighs, washing away every trace of come and more, and Gerard for all his fucking teasing about showers croons in delight at the attention, the hands on him. Frank wants to suck him all over again. The scent of the soap curling up from his hands hits his nostrils and it smells like Grant; it’s mouthwatering, and if Frank hadn’t just come his brains out he just might get hard again at that. Maybe later. “Yes, later,” Grant murmurs in his ear, and Frank realizes he’s muttering aloud. He lets Grant soap him up, too, realizes he’s going to smell like Grant now too. Still not hard, but oh, later. It takes longer than he remembers to turn off all the knobs he’d turned on, but when the water’s off Grant’s slipped out before them both and he bundles them up in thick towels. They dry off in silence, breathing quick and exhilarated.

Frank pulls on sweats and a t-shirt from the bag he and Gerard had thrown together when Grant had called earlier in the day and said “Come over and spend the night with me”, before sitting in their living room, both too full of anticipation to really concentrate on anything. They’d left the house earlier than necessary too, ostensibly to allow for L.A. traffic, but mostly because neither of them could sit and _wait_ any longer. If Frank occasionally still feels gripped by some strange form of insanity at the thought of it all, he’s at least glad Gerard is sharing it.

Frank trails them back into the kitchen and leans against the counter as Grant orders dinner with an exacting care for Frank’s diet and smiles at Gerard when Gerard gets distracted by a stack of sketched-on bar napkins.

“From my last party,” Grant explains. “I keep telling everyone I’m selling them on eBay next time, but they just keep getting more and more filthy.”

Later, after Frank’s eaten his fill of whole-grain pasta and listened to Grant explain something about quantum theory and magic, it still feels normal. It’s Grant that makes it all feel normal, because it’s all normal for _him_ to discuss physics over dinner, share a bottle of 18-year single-malt on the deck overlooking the canyon and talk about the Justice League, and then go to bed with two guys practically half his age. Or, well. With them. There had better not be any other guys half Grant’s age hanging around his bedroom, Frank thinks jealously and then chuckles to himself; apparently it’s _really good_ whiskey, because that was not a 100% sober thought. Grant shoots him an inquiring look. Frank shrugs. “Just a random thought,” he says.

“What’s the rule, Frankie?” Gerard chides him teasingly. “You’re not allowed to have those and not share.”

“That rule was for _you,_ Gerard,” Frank shoots back. “Platinum-white hair ringing a bell?”

“Bookworm tattoo,” Gerard reminds him.

“I’m sorry, how long did it take you to notice that? And you like it.”

“You have a lot of tattoos! And it’s not like you put your fingers together and said ‘Look at my bookworm tattoo, Gerard.’ I thought they were just symbols. Also, I like _you._ ”

“You’d better.”

Grant laughs. “Is this likely to go on longer?”

“Sorry, Grant,” Frank says, “our rock star lifestyle is mostly racking up frequent flier miles and bickering.” He shuffles closer to Grant and tips his head against Grant’s arm.

“Random thought,” Grant reminds him.

“Oh! It was nothing, really, just - imagining what I’d do to the other guys hanging around your bedroom door.”

Grant laughs, sounding startled. “There’s no one hanging round my bedroom door, Frank.”

“Good,” Frank says, nuzzling closer. “Because I’m a little drunk, and Gerard’s really no good in a fight.”

“Gerard,” Frank hears Grant say over his head, “did Frank just threaten to duel for my favor?”

“It sounded that way, yes,” Gerard replies. Frank knows what Gerard sounds like when he’s choking back laughter, and he flips him off without looking in that direction.

Grant tips his chin up, his eyes dancing with amusement, but beneath that, he’s completely serious. “That won’t be necessary, Frank.” They’re simple words, that could mean several different things, but Frank can practically hear the _because there’s no one for me but the two of you_ that comes after.

He turns his head and looks down at the lights of the city and it strikes him how surreal this is. How if you’d told him 10 years ago he’d be standing on a deck overlooking Los Angeles with Grant Morrison’s arms around him, with Gerard stepping into their space and kissing Grant, then Frank, and resting his head on Frank’s shoulder, he’d never have believed it. He’d have thought anybody saying such things was crazy. Never mind any of the other stuff that’s happened. Frank shivers, suddenly a little bit overwhelmed.

“Are you cold?” Grant asks. Frank shakes his head, but Grant turns them toward the sliding glass door anyway. “Tea? Coffee? Bed?” Grant asks when he closes and latches the door.

Frank laughs. “Dangerous question. You never know how Gerard will answer.” Gerard mock pouts at him and Frank throws his arms around Gerard’s waist and kisses right below his ear.

“I’m tempted to say coffee, just because you’re a little shit.” Gerard’s voice vibrates in his ears. Frank laughs again and he hears Grant chuckle close by. “But I don’t really want coffee or tea right now, just you two.” It should be funny. It is, really. But it’s also stupidly sweet in a weird Gerard sort of way.

“Bed it is,” Grant declares and starts moving. Frank pulls back from Gerard and grabs his hand and they follow Grant back to his bedroom. Johnny Rotten is sitting on the foot of Grant’s bed and Frank drops to his knees and stares at the cat at eye level.

“You’re pretty cool, for a cat,” Frank declares after a few moments of mutual staring. He reaches out his fingers tentatively, holds them in front of Johnny’s nose. Johnny stretches to bump his head against the palm of Frank’s hand. He’s purring again, and Frank scratches behind his ears gently for a minute before Grant comes over and scoops him up.

“Contrary brat,” Grant murmurs, depositing him in the hallway. “Find your bed for the night, this one’s mine.” He’s smiling, and he shuts the door gently and returns to where Frank has pushed himself back to his feet.

“Who are you calling a brat?” Frank says, tipping his face up.

Grant obliges him with a kiss. “No one in this room.”

“Are you sure?” Gerard asks. Frank watches him step behind Grant, hands curving around Grant’s waist and running up his chest. “I think you’ve just traded one sort for another.”

“I see the bickering was not an exaggeration. Any particular reason?” Grant teases gently, tugging Gerard around in front of him. Frank sits down on the foot of the bed and pulls Gerard onto his lap. Gerard comes willingly, thighs sliding on either side of Frank’s hips. He puts a hand on the side of Frank’s face, thumb pressing gently under his eye.

“Frank gets hyper this close to tour,” Gerard says, swiping his thumb back and forth across Frank’s cheekbone.

“Doing so many radio shows makes Gerard bitchy,” Frank shoots back, hands slipping under the hem of Gerard’s shirt to stroke the small of his back.

Grant smooths the hair out of Gerard’s face, and Gerard looks up at him. Frank can’t help leaning forward and tasting the underside of his jaw, so he only hears Grant’s soft reply. “I’ll miss you.”

“We’re here now,” Gerard replies, just as softly. Frank pulls back to watch them kiss, and then Grant’s leaning down for him too, his mouth warm and tasting faintly of scotch. It strikes Frank that Grant’s probably enjoying having them in his house, the same way they’d enjoyed having him over on Thursday and Friday, like their presence changes the space, stretches and transforms it. Frank has a sudden flash of comprehension of what Grant was saying at dinner. Maybe it’s the scotch.

Apparently he smiles because Grant smooths a thumb down his cheek and asks, “What’s this for?”

“Quantum physics.”

Grant smiles back at him and Frank’s pretty sure he understands. He kisses Frank again, tongue doing things that make Frank tremble and clutch at Gerard’s sides, then pulls back.

“I want to watch the two of you tonight,” Grant murmurs.

Gerard licks his lips and asks, “Is there anything specific you want to see?”

“No.” Grant runs a hand through Gerard’s hair. “I want you to do exactly what you want to do.” There’s a chaise lounge sitting beside the windows a few feet away, but Frank hopes he doesn’t go sit on it because even if he’s not participating, that’s still too far away. When he moves just a few inches, still seated on the bed, Frank sighs happily. Gerard reaches down and grabs hold of the hem of Frank’s shirt and pulls it up and over his head. He runs his hands over Frank’s chest, traces the spiderweb and the bomb and up to Frank’s shoulders.

Gerard’s touch combined with the alcohol and with Grant watching them is making Frank feel kind of floaty. He can feel the blood rushing through his veins in a steady _whoosh whoosh whoosh_. He really wants to lie back, so he just lets himself fall backward. Gerard follows him down so their chests are pressed together. He kisses the underside of Frank’s jaw and then rolls off him.

“Scoot up, Frankie,” Gerard says, “So your legs aren’t hanging off the bed.” Frank does, but it takes some effort and his sweats slide down his ass as he moves. He supposes that’s not a bad thing, especially when he catches Grant’s eyes tracing over his hips and down. Gerard pulls them the rest of the way off then gets rid of his own clothes before crawling back over Frank and kissing every part of his face, his shoulders and neck. Frank’s pretty sure if he were one of Grant’s cats, he’d be purring.

“I’d like to hear you purr,” Grant murmurs, stroking a finger down his cheek. Frank realizes he’s thinking out loud again and giggles.

“M’not actually a cat,” Frank tells him seriously, in case there’s any confusion on the matter.

Grant laughs. “Figure of speech, darling.”

“You writers. Give me another drink, maybe I’ll start talking about metaphors and similes too.”

“If you’re talking about metaphors and similes at all, I don’t think you need another drink,” says Gerard, sounding amused. “I think you need to stay right where you are and let me keep doing what I’m doing.”

“What’s my incentive?”

“Oh, I have lots of incentive,” Gerard tells him, pushing Frank’s hands above his head, smoothing his palms down the soft inner skin of his arms. He lets his lips take over at Frank’s shoulders, kissing Frank’s collarbones, the hollow of his throat. “You’re so beautiful, Frank. I want my mouth all over you.”

“Yes,” Frank says. There’s no other word but yes. Yes is too short a word, so he says it again, craning his neck to watch Gerard’s mouth trail down to Frank’s nipples. He sees Gerard’s tongue slip out to taste, murmuring happily as Gerard licks his way across his chest to suck the other one. “All over, Gerard, please. I’ll just -” He reaches for Gerard, running his hands across Gerard’s neck, shoulders, cheeks, lips, whatever he can reach.

“Frank,” Gerard says thickly, settling more heavily astride Frank’s thighs and grabbing his hand, pressing a kiss to the palm. “Relax, let me.”

"Okay," Frank says and lets his body basically melt into the bed. Gerard smiles down at him and runs his hands over Frank's chest, rolling Frank's nipples between his fingers. Frank moans and arches into the touch and Gerard leans down to kiss him. He's still drunk enough that his lips are tingling and Gerard's kisses feel strange and amazing.

Gerard moves down, his lips following his hands, mouth taking Frank's nipple in his and sucking. Frank gasps. Gerard moves down his belly, lips touching the birds and the words there. Frank's sure Gerard is going to go for his cock next, but instead he moves back up.

"If you want me relaxed, that's not the best way to do it," Frank grouses. Grant chuckles beside them and Frank can't help but smile too. Gerard smirks at him. He leans down to kiss Frank again and then rolls him over onto his stomach. Gerard straddles his thighs and works his hands into Frank's hair, fingers massaging his scalp. Frank sighs happily and turns his head to look at Grant. He's lifted up on an elbow, holding his head up with his hand, his other hand resting on the bed. He's looking at them intently, like they're the most fascinating things he's ever seen. The corner of his lips turn up and he meets Frank's gaze with... Frank doesn't have words for the look in Grant's eyes. Maybe he's too drunk, maybe it really is indescribable, but it makes Frank's chest feel tight.

Gerard's hands leave his hair and move to his shoulders and back, rubbing and massaging and god, _this_ is definitely relaxing. He's still hard, and he can't help but move against the sheets a bit. Gerard's weight prevents him from moving too much, but it's just enough friction to feel almost perfect. Frank’s eyes slip closed and he just basks in the feel of Gerard’s hands on him. He kind of zones out, only barely registering that Gerard asks Grant for lube. The bed shifts with Grant’s movement and then Gerard’s slick fingers are working their magic.

His body feels so fucking good, he feels almost paralyzed with it, as if he’s so relaxed his muscles have forgotten how to work, so he’s just going to explode. His eyes fly open and he looks at Grant again. Grant reaches out his hand and grabs Frank’s, lacing their fingers together. Gerard’s fingers touch Frank’s prostate and he squeezes Grant’s hand tight as he moans.

Gerard’s fingers disappear, and Frank wants to protest, but then Gerard’s lining up and pushing in, bracing himself over Frank’s back. He leans forward, letting his chest press against Frank’s back, and murmuring in his ear, “Fuck, Frankie.”

Gerard pulls back and tugs Frank’s hips up off the bed and starts thrusting. It doesn’t take long before he gets the angle just right and he’s hitting Frank’s prostate with each thrust. Frank moans, “Please.” Gerard reaches around and starts stroking his cock. Frank keens and thrusts into his hand and back onto Gerard’s cock and god, he’s getting so close.

“Such a pretty picture you both make,” Grant murmurs. He’s said it before; he said it that first time, _their_ first time, but it sounds completely different now. He knows why Grant likes to watch them now, and it’s the same reason he likes to watch Grant and Gerard, and knowing that sort of makes his head swim. Frank gasps and comes, tremors running through his body.

Gerard comes within moments of Frank, collapsing over Frank’s back, breathing heavy in his ear. Gerard nips at Frank's neck through a mouthful of hair, trailing kisses down and across the back of his shoulders before pushing himself up to his knees, steadying himself with a sticky hand on Frank's hip. Frank rubs his face against the crisp sheets underneath him, keening wordlessly again when Gerard pulls out. His fingers flex in Grant's and he rolls onto his side, pushes closer.

"Grant," Frank pleads, letting go of his hand to shove at the hem of Grant's shirt. He can barely move, doesn't want to, but he needs _more_. Grant helps him get the shirt off. Gerard has the better angle to work on Grant's jeans, and he's still fumbling as Frank presses himself against Grant's chest, licking and sucking his way across Grant's pecs, up the column of his throat to his chin and mouth, letting his weight press Grant back onto his back. "I gotta ... let us ...."

His mouth skids across Grant's jaw and back down as he reaches for Grant's cock, and his arm brushes up against Gerard's. Gerard has had the same idea, is shifting himself to straddle Grant's legs and wrap a hand around his shaft. When Frank's fingers get there first, he moves farther, bracing himself to lean down and close his mouth around the head instead. Grant moans, back arching a little, and Frank leans down to lick the center of his chest as he continues to jerk Grant off. He can feel Gerard's spit between his fingers, the slide of his hand getting faster, easier as he matches Gerard's rhythm, both of them matching the hitching of Grant's hips.

Frank leans his cheek against Grant's chest, watching his own tattoos flex and blur. Gerard has gone back to fingers, adding a clever little twist at the top of each stroke. Grant's murmuring, a few curse words, their names, _yes, yes_ all soft and insistent and a little wondering, and when Gerard wraps his fingers around Frank's and strokes their hands up and down his shaft together he moans, thrusting up erratically into the double grip three, four times before going still, coming all over their linked fingers.

Frank lifts his head and presses his lips to the side of Grant's mouth. He's breathing heavy, dragging in each each breath as if he’s starving for oxygen, but he turns and presses his lips fully to Frank’s anyway. Frank opens his mouth and Grant’s tongue slides in. Frank lets go of Grant’s cock, untangles his hand from Gerard’s, and brings his hand up to Grant’s jaw, holding him there and kissing and kissing. He finally pulls back to breathe, resting his forehead against Grant’s cheek. He feels Gerard settle against Grant’s other side, wrapping an arm over his chest. He gently strokes Frank’s ribs and then starts to giggle. Frank picks his head up and peers over at Gerard.

“Look at the mess you made on Grant’s cheek.” Gerard snickers, but he also leans forward and licks Frank’s fingers and Grant’s cheek; it’s ridiculous and also hot and Frank can’t decide whether to laugh or swallow his tongue.

Grant solves his conundrum by smiling and saying, “I don’t mind.” Frank just has to kiss that smile, taste that joy. Grant wraps his arms around him and pulls Frank more on top of himself.

He feels Gerard get up. When he comes back, he cleans them up with a damp cloth, trailing kisses wherever the cloth goes. He finally gets to Grant’s cheek and throws the cloth toward the bathroom, spreading more kisses over Grant’s face, his neck, over to Frank’s lips and back to Grant’s. Grant’s making these gorgeous noises and god, the two of them are so fucking amazing Frank can hardly stand it.

Grant turns back to Frank, cups Frank’s face in his hands and starts kissing him again, soft and slow and over and over and over until Frank can’t even think. Gerard curls around them against the pillows, fingers threading through Frank’s hair, and Frank must actually fall asleep like that because the next thing he knows, he’s cradled in Grant’s arms with Grant’s voice rumbling through his chest as he talks quietly to Gerard, and the next thing he knows, it’s clearly the wee hours of the morning and he can hear a cat meowing plaintively somewhere in the house.

It’s relatively easy to slip out from between them; they’ve shifted somewhat in their sleep. It’s difficult to leave; Frank wants nothing more than to look at them, touch them. He’s probably reached his lifetime quota of watching Gerard sleep out of necessity, but he’s sure he’ll never reach the limit of wanting to. And with Grant … he’s just now realizing how much he wants to. He pulls on his sweats, opens the bedroom door a crack, and slips through; he can sleep anywhere, but not once he’s this wide awake. He follows the sound to a door down the hall that proves to be Grant’s office. A desk lamp with a funky purple shade shows him that the cat is Johnny, and he’s standing up in a cat bed on the window seat, staring outside.

“Hey,” Frank says quietly. “What’s going on? Whatever it is, it’s out there and you’re in here, okay?” He goes and sits down on the window seat to peer outside and Johnny’s immediately in his lap, rubbing his face against Frank’s stomach and then curling up in his lap. “My dogs are gonna be so jealous,” he says, petting Johnny’s back gently. He leans his head against the window riser and watches the lights twinkle in the hills. He’s not sure how long he sits there; it’s still dark outside and Grant doesn’t have a clock anywhere that he can see.

A sound at the door proves to be Grant, leaning sleepy and trim-hipped against the door jamb, naked as the day he was born and clearly unconcerned. “God, you’re gorgeous,” Frank says.

Grant lets out a quiet little hum. “Then you should see yourself right now.” Frank has a moment to feel the warmth building in his chest before Grant continues, “You were gone, I saw the light, I wasn’t sure -”

“I’m sorry,” Frank says automatically. “He was meowing, I think there was something outside. I just sat down for a moment, but -”

“I don’t mind you in here in the slightest, Frank,” Grant says. “I just wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

Frank looks down at the sleeping cat, then back up at Grant. “Looks like it, huh?”

The corner of Grant’s mouth lifts and he crosses to lift Johnny off of Frank’s lap and set him back in his bed, where he sighs and curls himself back up into a ball. “This is getting to be a routine already,” he murmurs, and Frank laughs a little. “Come back to bed?”

“In a minute,” Frank says, studying how the purplish shadows wrap around Grant’s body. He’s got a knee braced on the window seat; leaning over Frank, he looks a little like one of his superheroes, or maybe villains. “I like it in here,” he adds.

Grant’s watching him look, too. He tugs Frank to his feet, holding his hands braceleted gently between them. “Frank, I -” he starts, but he doesn’t continue, and when Frank steps closer he steps back and out of the way, letting go of Frank’s wrists.

Frank goes to his tiptoes to kiss Grant’s unresisting mouth as he walks by, and Grant curls his hands around the sides of Frank’s waist and holds him close for a moment before he lets him pass. Frank moves into the hall, reaching behind him for Grant’s hand; Grant laces their fingers together. Frank leads them back into the bedroom and he stops short, almost causing Grant to run into him. Gerard is sprawled out on the bed, the growing dawn light making him look eerie and beautiful. Grant nuzzles his neck, up to his ear.

“Get in there where you belong,” Grant murmurs into his ear. Frank shivers and moves forward, tugging Grant’s hand to pull him into bed as well. He curls up on his side facing Gerard and Grant wraps around him from behind, slinging an arm around his waist and twinning their legs together. Gerard shifts and his eyes blink open.

“Timezit?” Gerard mumbles.

“Early,” Frank tells him, smoothing his hair off his face, “Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm.” Gerard turns onto his side and slides his arm across Frank’s waist next to Grant’s.

Frank lays awake like that for a while longer, basking in the warmth and the weight of their arms on his waist. When the sun actually manages to rise above the hills, they’ll have to go home again; Grant has more writing to do and they have to start packing and getting ready for tour. But Frank wishes, just for a moment, that they could stop time and stay just like this.

*

He’s got Sinatra playing on the stereo. Frank figures since he’s making the men in his life his grandma’s lasagna, it’s a Sinatra sort of moment. The lasagna has about ten more minutes left in the oven and his own stomach-friendly meal of steamed veggies, rice, and tofu (and a little of the sauce because it’s fucking delicious and Frank is eating _tofu_ , he deserves a little homemade marinara) is ready to go when the doorbell rings. Frank smiles, wipes his hands dry on a towel, and goes to answer the door. Grant is standing on the porch with a smile on his face and a bouquet in his hands.

“You brought me flowers,” he says dumbly.

“That I did. You seemed so disappointed on Thanksgiving, I couldn’t possibly visit again without bringing you some,” Grant explains, eyes full of mirth. He hands Frank the flowers and Frank laughs as he pulls Grant inside. He wraps his free hand around the back of Grant’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss.

“Hi,” Frank murmurs against Grant’s lips, then pulls back. “Dinner is almost ready. Ignore the mess. We’ve been packing all day. It’s like the house exploded. Gerard’s in his office making sure his art supplies for the tour are all in order. You should go get him while I finish up.”

“All right,” Grant says, leans down to kiss Frank –just a brief peck, but it makes Frank smile–and wanders down the hall toward Gerard’s office.

Frank gets the food out on the table and everything is ready to go, and yet Grant and Gerard have not emerged from the office. Frank rolls his eyes. He should have known.

They’re not making out when he gets back to the office like he expected, but standing close together in front of the bookshelves.

“We actually have doubles of all those,” Gerard says when Grant pulls a book off the shelf. “One set for here, the other is in Jersey.”

The pleasure evident in Grant’s smile confirms that the book in his hand is obviously one of Grant’s. Grant absently flips through the pages when he stops, and pulls something out.

“The date on this says 2002,” Grant says, clearly extremely curious. “And if I’m not mistaken, this is Frank. As King Mob.”

“He was wooing me,” Frank pipes up from where he’s leaning against the door jamb.

“With–”

Frank nods, “You.”

“I can’t believe we haven’t told you this already,” Gerard grins. “It was when I was working at Barnes & Noble and Frankie came in for some reason and I caught him looking at _The Invisibles_ and had to make sure he’d read it.”

“Like, the entire start of our relationship somehow kept coming back to _The Invisibles_. It was before I was even in the band, just being depressed about my own band ending, moping and reading. And then I did merch for them one night because I’m a nice guy like that, and that drawing was my thank-you note from Gerard,” Frank explains, with a little sideways smile for Gerard. “And then like, a week later we were dating and the week after that he asked me to join the band.”

“I had it all planned, see,” Gerard adds. “I was going to lure him to my house with the promise of the last two volumes.”

Grant tips his head back and laughs, but his face grows more serious after a few moments. “The magic of that book never ceases to amaze me.”

The look of wonderment on Grant’s face pretty much means Frank has to go kiss Grant, he just has to. It takes all of Frank’s willpower to pull back, but he does. “Dinner’s ready,” he says and reaches out a hand to Gerard, pulling him close for a quick kiss as well. “Let’s go eat or it’ll get cold, and my grandma will come haunt me for using her recipe and then failing to serve it properly.” They follow him back into the kitchen where the food is waiting.

“Frank, this is delicious,” Grant practically moans after a couple of bites.

Frank grins. “Thanks.”

“He made the sauce yesterday,” Gerard says. “It was really mean. The entire house smelled so good and he wouldn’t let me have any.”

“I did too!”

“A spoonful doesn’t even count,” Gerard returns.

Frank rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You’re having some _now_.”

Grant chuckles at them. “My time with the two of you will never be dull, will it?”

Frank opens his mouth to respond, but it turns into a yawn. “Ugh, it will be if I fall asleep on you.” He didn’t realize quite how exhausted he was until just now, until he was finally able to stop and relax for more than five minutes. Grant gives him a concerned look.

“It’s just been a long day of errands and packing,” Frank explains.

“And you still managed to cook a delicious meal,” Grant says with a little smile.

“That was the best part. I knew I had this to look forward to at the end of it.” Frank shrugs and his cheeks get a little hot. Gerard tangles his feet with Frank’s under the table, and Grant puts a hand on his cheek and leans over for a kiss.

They continue eating and Grant asks a question about the Frank-as-King-Mob drawing that leads to story after story of the start of their relationship, how weird it was to navigate a new band and a new relationship at the same time; recording Bullets, touring and being in a relationship with your band member when his brother is also in the band. It’s ancient history to them, of course, so even the unpleasant bits have become vaguely funny with time, and Grant just seems delighted to listen. Finally, they finish eating and clear everything up.

“You realize I’m sending the rest of this home with you, right?” Frank says to Grant, pointing at the pan still thee quarters of the way full of lasagna. “Because apparently I have actually turned into my grandmother.”

Gerard snorts; Frank reaches out and swats him on the ass.

“I might actually remember to eat, knowing this is in the refrigerator,” Grant says. Frank can feel himself frowning. Grant laughs and pulls him close. “You’re going to call me daily just to make sure I’m eating, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Frank huffs, but relaxes into Grant’s arms and wraps his own around Grant’s waist.

Grant holds him for a moment then pushes him gently away. “Since you worked so hard on dinner, it’s only fair that we take care of the kitchen.”

Frank wants to protest that Grant doesn’t have to clean up, but stops short. Usually he’d justify it by saying something about guests not having to clean, but Grant is so much more than a guest. So he acquiesces and feeds the dogs, makes sure the instructions for the neighbor kid who’s taking care of them while they’re gone are still taped to the wall in the utility room near the bowls and the big bin of dog food, and double-checks all the info. He plays a little tug-of-war with Sinatra, scoops Mama into his arms and holds her close until she squirms to get down.

Finally Frank gets up to go double-check his lists and his bags, but pauses in the hall to just stare at Grant and Gerard in the kitchen. They’re kissing, slow and gorgeous, Grant’s hands framing Gerard’s face and Gerard’s arms around Grant’s neck. Gerard pulls back and rests his head against Grant’s forehead and Grant wraps his arms around Gerard tightly.

“Letting you go is harder than I expected it to be,” Grant murmurs quietly. Frank sees Gerard’s arms tighten around Grant’s neck.

“We’ll call. And email. And text,” Gerard assures him. “And Frank will send you pictures. And we’ll be back here for the California shows. We’ll be stupidly busy. I think we even have hotels booked for those days, instead of just coming home, but hopefully we can squeeze in a visit somehow.”

“We’ll manage,” Grant says and kisses Gerard again.

Frank smiles and shakes himself and goes out into the living room. He thinks about what Grant said about it being harder than he expected; Frank finds that’s true for him as well. Especially when they’re gonna be able to spend a little time in Jersey.

He tries to clean around all the bags and suitcases. Most of his stuff is done and packed. He’s got to finalize the stuff for his carry-on, pick out a few books, make sure all his chargers for various electronics are packed, but some of that will just have to wait for morning. He’s poking at the bookshelf trying to decide on some books when Gerard and Grant wander out of the kitchen.

“Okay, I have to finish packing,” Gerard declares, “come keep me company.” Frank smiles and follows them down the hallway. This is practically tradition by now. Gerard is always still packing long after Frank is done and he always wants company, but definitely not help. Frank made the mistake of confusing the the two a couple of times and got his head bitten off for it.

“Best plan is to get out of the way,” Frank tells Grant when they get into the bedroom. He nudges Grant toward the big, comfortable chair in the corner of the room and once Grant sits, insinuates himself on Grant’s lap. Grant wraps his arms around Frank and kisses him.

“Oh, is that how this is going to be?” Frank turns his head to look, and Gerard is standing next to the bed with his giant suitcase open on top, his hands on his hips, glaring. It’s not a real glare; there’s amusement behind it, nothing more, but Frank turns anyway so he can see Gerard _and_ Grant and they start talking again.

Gerard seems to take his time packing, being far more meticulous about things like folding and placement than he usually is, clearly trying to drag things out. They talk and laugh until Gerard is finished. Frank’s eyes are drooping pretty heavily, but he forces himself to stay awake. He can sleep on the plane tomorrow. This time is for the three of them.

When Gerard is done, they undress and get in bed and touch each other lazily, hands and mouths everywhere. This, just like Gerard’s packing and the earlier conversation, is slow. They’re in no rush to do anything other than explore each other’s bodies. When Frank finally comes with Gerard’s hand around his cock and Grant’s mouth on his, it’s almost an afterthought. Like the real event was everything that came before. When they finally start drifting off to sleep, it’s late. Their alarm is going to go off way too soon, and a car will be there to pick them up and take them to an airplane, and they hate flying, but for now everything feels wonderful. 

***

They’ve been in New York for a couple days already and they’ve talked to Grant, separately or together, at least once or twice a day.  The private show the other night wasn’t too bad, but today, somehow, the radio show’s snuck up on Frank.  He’s his typical bundle of nerves through soundcheck, finding himself chainsmoking out the dressing room window afterwards.  When he grinds the last butt out against the window sash Gerard’s nowhere in sight, so Frank stuffs his phone in his pocket, waves in a way that hopefully indicates “going to find my wandering boyfriend” to Ray, and shuffles through the bowels of the Roseland.

There are so many family members and friends also wandering around the ballroom’s backstage warrens that it’s almost impossible to get anywhere without being waylaid, but eventually Frank finds Gerard tucked in a corner of the balcony level sidestage.  Well, he hears him.  “So, I really can’t talk, but I finally got away after I promised her I’d tell you she said hello.  Grant … fuck no, I’m not telling my mother you said _that_.  Tell her yourself, you filthy man.  No, wait, do _not_ tell her that.”  Gerard laughs, rich and full and happy, and Frank heart flutters a bit.  “...yeah.  Hey.   _Hey,_ I love you too,” Gerard adds softly.  Frank’s heart maybe stops altogether for a moment, and he skulks off, breath quick, until he finds somewhere to hide and think.

Fuck, he’s _jealous_.  Not in the normal way, no; if there’s one thing he never ever doubts, it’s that Gerard loves him.  And he’s known how much Gerard loves Grant since, well, their night together in Edinburgh, which was … holy hell, not much more than a month ago.  It feels like last night and like forever ago at the same time.  He _should_ have realized it many months ago, maybe even years ago.  Would have, if Gerard hadn’t hidden it in a well-intentioned act of guilt and love.  Gerard was right, though, at the time.  This … thing that they have between the three of them, it couldn’t have survived the place they were in back then.  Probably.  Maybe.

Even in the here and now, it so very easily could have ended in that trailer in LA as an overdue encounter, a mutual release of tension.  Frank knows that Grant believes wholeheartedly that magic is at work in the world, that you can obtain your desires with the force of your belief in them, in your capacity to reach them.  He wonders sometimes in quiet moments, half-ashamed at his own skepticism, if it’s true; and if it is, whose desire led them down this path.  Maybe it’s not that simple.  Maybe it took all three of them to create something so tangled, so strong.  

He can’t deny his own feelings anymore.  He’s falling wholly, stupidly, giddily - but he can’t say it.  It’s blocked, stuck like a clogged drain, the dirt and debris of his own fucking hangups keeping it bottled inside.  That’s why he’s jealous.  Today he’s twisted up and crackling with it, ready to explode.  He takes a deep breath and heads back to the greenroom, counting the seconds until the show.

“Hey man,” Pedicone calls when he opens the door. “Come settle this argument for us.” Frank lets himself be pulled into the conversation with some guy from Gaslight. He barely registers the topic. Something about which state has the best food or some shit. Frank’s pretty sure his answer doesn’t settle anything, though, since he judges these things on a different criteria than most of them.

He keeps glancing at the door, waiting for Gerard to come back; at the clock, wishing it would go _faster_ , that they could just get going already, but the doors don’t even open for another half hour. If Frank thought he was sick with nerves before, that’s nothing compared to what his stomach is doing now. He kind of wants to puke.

Mikey sidles up next to him. “You okay, man?”

“Nervous,” Frank shrugs. It’s half true.

“You look kind of like you’re gonna puke,” Mikey observes. “Well, more than usual.”

Frank shrugs again and Mikey pulls him into a hug. Frank has to smile into his chest a little. Mikey fucking Way.

“It’s gonna be awesome,” Mikey says when he lets go.

Frank nods. “Yeah, it always is.” He hears Gerard’s stupid laugh from out in the hall and the door opens and he walks in, Frank’s dad coming in behind him. Frank goes over and gives his dad a hug and they chat and he’s able to find a little equilibrium at least. And then somehow time speeds up, and suddenly _it’s time_. In the hall, just before they’re about to walk onstage, Frank grabs Gerard, pulls hard on the lapels of the jacket that’s just going to come off within a couple of songs, and brings their mouths together. He kisses Gerard for as long as he can possibly get away with, hard and full of everything he can’t say, then lets go. Gerard just stares at him for a beat and Frank gives him a little shove toward the stage.

Really, Frank should have known he’d pay for that. Gerard doesn’t stop touching him throughout the whole set. Every time he’s within range, there’s a hand on Frank’s back or his shoulder. And then during Prison, Frank’s full of too many things to keep his feet, so he goes down on his back and suddenly there’s Gerard standing over him, shoving the mic in his face and god fucking damn, if Gerard did not want this reaction he wouldn’t have done it, so Frank thrusts up and screams his part.  Gerard grins, but struts off in the other direction like the fucking tease that he is.

Frank could maybe have gone through the night with his self-control intact, except from fucking nowhere Gerard produces this fucking fur coat and wears it for Kids. Frank has a feeling Donna is an accomplice in this, but it doesn’t matter.  He can’t even handle it. It’s ridiculous and fucking hot and Frank is just _done_. They leave the stage in succession and as they’re watching Mikey, Frank wraps a hand around Gerard’s wrist and shouts in his ear, “Don’t you dare take that off.”

And then Mikey’s off stage and they stumble back to the greenroom and Frank, his hand still clamped around Gerard’s wrist, goes straight to his bag and grabs his phone and one more small item, pulls up his recent contacts, taps on Grant’s name, and drags Gerard toward the nearest bathroom. He can’t give Grant the words, but he can give him this.

“Frank?” he hears Grant’s voice in his ear.

“Hi, yeah, hold on a second.”  Frank slams the door shut and locks it, finally letting go of Gerard and looking him in the face. Gerard bites his lip in a way that tells Frank he’s definitely trying not to smile, well, more accurately, smirk. “Okay, I’m here,” Frank says into the phone.

“Did you just get off stage? You sound rather out of breath,” Grant says.

“Yeah. Yeah, we did. He was... all _night_ , Grant.”  He can’t even find the words for _what_ Gerard was all night.  He was just … Gerard, to the nth power.  Frank shoots a look at Gerard, who’s struggling even harder to control the smirk.  “Do you know what he’s wearing right now?”

“No, I can’t say I do, but it sounds like you’re about to tell me.”  Fuck his life, Grant sounds amused too, and if Frank wasn’t so fucking revved up he’d probably laugh himself, but he’s far beyond the point of no return now.  So, so far.  

“Same thing he’s been wearing since October, really,” Frank says smoothly, “with a ladies’ fur coat thrown over it.  Faux fur,” he amends at an irritated noise from Gerard.  “If you could see him -”

“I wish I could,” Grant replies, the amusement in his voice shifting to something a little regretful, a little heated.  

“Keep an eye on YouTube,” Frank tells him.  “You’ll see what I mean.”  Gerard’s watching him talk and listening to Frank’s side of the conversation, increasingly wide-eyed, and Frank says into the phone, “I’m putting you on speaker.”  He sits it down on the little ledge underneath the mirror, and then Grant’s voice is spilling into the room, a little tinny but _there_.

“Gerard,” Grant says questioningly.

“I think Frank thinks I’m torturing him on purpose,” Gerard replies.

“I don’t think that,” Frank tells him.  “I know that.”

“You started it,” Gerard says.  

Frank can hear Grant chuckle in the background, but he’s busy reaching for Gerard, spinning him around to press his chest against the wall.  Leaning heavily against his back, Frank tells him, “And I am going to _finish_ it.”  Gerard and Grant both make approximately the same noise, and Gerard squirms back against Frank’s hips until he bites back one of his own.  Fuck, he’s rock hard already; who could blame him for that?  “Grant,” he says breathlessly, “are you still at your desk?”

“I am,” Grant says.  Frank closes his eyes for a moment, pictures the sweep of windows, the very serious desk with its very purple desk lamp.  Grant sitting in the midst of it all.

“Well,” he says, “save your work.”  That gets a chuckle from Gerard.

“What are you laughing at?” Frank murmurs against Gerard’s ear, the collar of the jacket obscenely soft against his cheek.  “You, take your pants off.  Now.”

“What’re you going to do, Frank?” Gerard asks, pushing against Frank until he steps back a step.  He fumbles at his belt for long enough that Frank grabs him and turns him back around to help.

“What are you going to do, Frank?” echoes Grant’s voice from the phone.

“I -” grits Frank, jerking Gerard’s fly open and struggling to shove his pants down around his ankles, “am going to fuck you in your fucking Bowie coat, and I am going to do it up against that wall right there, and you are going to be nice and loud so Grant can hear you.”  He steps in close, hands low and tight on Gerard’s bare hips, and Gerard gasps a little.  “Yeah,” he breathes against Gerard’s cheek.  “Like that, but louder.”  He spins Gerard around with a push-pull on his hips and presses him back up against the wall, and Gerard moans.  “Now you’re getting the idea.  Grant?” Frank asks.

“I’m listening,” Grant says, sounding husky even through the speaker.  

Frank closes his eyes for a moment, since no one can see him do it.  He hauls in a breath and fumbles in his pocket for the packet of lube he’d grabbed from his bag, ripping it open and squeezing it over his fingers as carefully as he can before setting it on the edge of the sink.  Fuck, his fucking hands are shaking, and he braces the heel of the left on the small of Gerard’s back, kicking Gerard’s feet apart and pressing in with the fingers of his right.  

Frank gives Gerard two fingers right off the bat.  Gerard can take it, and Frank is in no mood to be gentle.  Not now, not tonight.  Not with Gerard moaning loud and needy and pressing back onto them right away like Frank’s been prepping him forever instead of for a few seconds.  Frank smacks him lightly on the flank with his other hand.  “Use your words, Gerard,” he taunts gently.

“Fuck,” Gerard moans, head turned to the side and forehead pressing against the wall.  “Frank, your hands, _god_.”

“I’ve got more than that,” Frank says thickly, pressing in a third finger.  “You interested?”

“I’ve been - ahhh - interested since you kissed the shit out of me backstage, you fucker.”  Gerard grinds back onto Frank’s fingers, breath hitching.

“You shouldn’t call me names,” Frank drawls.  “Should he be calling me names, Grant?”

“I think -” Grant says shakily, “- there’s another bit of business to be taken care of, yes?”

“Oh, I will,” Frank tells him.  “Getting there.  Are you?”

A moan is his only answer.  Frank licks his dry lips, then reaches up and grabs a handful of Gerard’s hair, tugging his head back to kiss him sloppily.  Gerard’s back arches and Frank’s fingers stab in at a different angle and Gerard keens into his mouth.

“Okay,” Frank mutters, withdrawing his fingers - Gerard keens again - and fumbling his own jeans open, shoving them down and squeezing the rest of the lube packet over his dick.  Grant’s making the occasional little noise over the phone line and every one hits Frank like a little electric shock.  He closes a hand around his cock, giving it a few firm strokes to spread the lube around, and he startles himself with the strangled noise that falls from his own throat.  He’s not gonna need much.  He grits his teeth, guiding the head of his cock to Gerard’s opening and pressing in, slow and firm and no hesitation.  The next strangled moan, when Frank bottoms out against the curve of Gerard’s ass, comes from both of them, echoed a moment later by Grant.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Gerard chants, rubbing his face against his bicep before bracing himself and pushing back against Frank.  Frank’s fallen into a rhythm now, short steady thrusts and a hand wrapped tight around Gerard’s cock.  

Gerard’s hips stutter unevenly back and forth, and Frank bites out, “ _Talk_ , Gee.”

“Frank!” Gerard gasps, and Frank brushes his cheek against the softness of Gerard’s shoulder, against the fucking coat, breathing warm and steady and quick against the back of his neck.  “Frank, I -”

Gerard’s about to lose it, Frank knows it, can tell from the arrhythmic jerking of his hips, the feel of his cock in Frank’s hand.  “ _Say it._ ”

“Fuck, I can’t - I - you feel so fucking good. Frank, I love you, love you so fucking much, I -”

The fingertips of Frank’s free hand are biting into the thin skin at Gerard’s hip, and he’s pistoning his hips fast and ruthless and he can’t get his breath at all.  Gerard’s hair sticks to his lips when he whispers, “Tell _him,_ Gerard.”

Gerard cries out, a helpless little cut-off sound, pushing back into Frank’s hips and obeying.  “I love you, Grant, I - fuck, fuck, Frank -”  He arches his back and freezes, coming suddenly all over Frank’s hand, clenching around Frank who groans and snaps his hips in a few more times before he’s coming too, clutching at Gerard’s waist with both hands, smearing come along his hipbone but hanging on.  

He’s still sunk to the hilt inside Gerard, face buried in Gerard’s hair, but he fumbles for the phone and cradles it against his chest.  “Grant,” he says, and Grant lets out a helpless, drawn-out moan, falling into silence a moment later.

“Fucking hell, Frank,” Grant breathes out a few moments later.  “I -” He stops, swears again, something soft and Scottish and practically drowned out by an ear-splitting bang from outside where a door just slammed or something fell or - Frank grimaces and pulls out.

“Hey, shit, I - we are gonna be so busted in a minute or two, hold on a sec,” he mumbles apologetically, reaching for a handful of paper towels, cleaning himself up and tugging his pants back into place.  He steps back so Gerard can do the same.  Gerard looks fucked-out and still blissed from the stage and, frankly, a little wide-eyed and crazy, which Frank knows is his fault for fucking pushing this without explaining, and Frank’s got that same funny feeling in his gut that he did earlier, just with the edge taken off.  “We gotta go,” he says softly.  “There are a million people here, and half of them probably just heard most of that and I really don’t give a fuck, but they want to see us, and there’s not enough time and, fuck, Grant, I had to.”

“Don’t apologize, Frank.”  Grant sounds a little funny himself.  “Please, not for that.  I -”  He hesitates, continues.  “And especially not for - well, I _did_ tell you to call me anytime you wanted.”  He’s got a curl of humor back in his voice now.  

“Yeah, you did,” Frank smiles into the phone. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to call again. Probably tomorrow?”

“Please do.”

“I ... I miss you. We miss you,” Frank says.  There’s another crash from outside and Frank sighs. “Okay, we really have to go. Bye, Grant.”

“Goodbye, darling. Talk to you soon,” Grant answers. Frank ends the call and slips the phone back into his pocket.

Gerard tilts his head and studies Frank for a few seconds, looking curious. Frank’s a little relieved when Gerard just grabs his hand and asks, “You ready for them?”

“God, no,” Frank laughs. They are going to get so much shit the second they walk out that door. And they do, from the crew, the guys, their fucking _parents_. Frank is torn between laughing himself stupid and crawling into a hole to die.  

Thankfully, someone produces a cake with a truly awful icing representation of Han and Leia kissing on it that says “Congratulations Mike!” on it and the focus shifts and everyone remembers that Pedicone is getting _married_ tomorrow. They all eat cake and toast him and then everyone chips in to get all their shit packed up so they can all go _home_. When Frank gets a second, he goes over to Pedicone and pulls him into a hug.

“Hey, congratulations. Sorry we can’t all be there,” he says when he pulls back.

Mike beams at him. “I understand, dude. I’d say next time, but I’m really hoping this only happens once. Any advice?”

Frank is kind of taken aback by the question. “I....”

“I mean, you guys have what? Nine, ten years? And you’re still fucking in bathrooms like you can’t keep your hands off each other.”

Frank takes a deep breath and fiddles with the ring on his finger. It may not be _technically_ a wedding ring, but it means the same thing. “I don’t know, man. I won’t say it hasn’t been fucking hard at times, but we just kept working at it and kept talking.”

“Hey, Pedicone, your cab to JFK is waiting outside. Get the fuck out of here,” Lauren calls from where she’s manning the clipboard by the door. And then everyone else is crowding around them, hugging Pedicone, slapping him on the back, and then shoving him out the door. Finally everything is done and they get to leave, too. Get to go spend a day at their house and maybe get a little fucking sleep before Florida. Unless there’s something on the schedule that Frank doesn’t know about. Which is always possible. Gerard will tell him.

“Ready to go?” Gerard asks from just behind him. Frank almost jumps out of his skin. "Sorry, Frankie," Gerard says sheepishly.

“S’okay.” Frank reaches back and grabs Gerard’s hand, pulling it around his waist. Gerard rests his chin on Frank’s shoulder. They stand like that for a minute and then Frank says, “Yeah, let’s go home.”  

*

Frank doesn't wake up until nearly noon the next day and then he really doesn’t want to get out of bed. He’s warm and comfortable and he has nowhere to be for several hours at least, so he just pulls the blankets up higher and closes his eyes again. Apparently what woke him up was Gerard getting up, because he hears the toilet flush and soon Gerard is crawling back into bed with him.

“You awake?” Gerard whispers.

“No,” Frank grumbles into his pillow. Gerard rolls close, wraps an arm around Frank’s waist, and buries his face in Frank’s neck.

“Mmm.... Me either. Let’s just stay here all day.”

“We’re supposed to have dinner with my mom,” Frank reminds him. “But I’m all for staying here until we have to leave.” They stay like that for a few minutes. Frank dozes off, but comes immediately awake when Gerard starts talking again.

“Except I need coffee. And maybe something to eat. Except we don’t actually have any food in the cupboards, so we’ll have to order in.” Frank turns over on his back with a chuckle. Gerard smiles down at him, reaches out and traces Frank’s jawline with his fingers. “Last night was amazing,” he says seriously.

Frank nods. It was. Everything about it.

“You seemed ... I know I miss things sometimes, but am I wrong in thinking something was up?”

“I ... no? I don’t. It’s not....” Frank sighs and brings a hand up to rub his forehead. Gerard reaches out to grab his fingers. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You say that and it almost always is,” Gerard says.

Frank sighs again. This isn’t something he has words for right now. If he tried, he’d just fuck it up and it would _definitely_ be a big deal then. “Okay, it’s not a big deal in that I love you and I’m really happy about the band and the tour and Grant. It’s just.... I can’t.... I don’t know how to....”

Gerard presses his fingers to Frank’s lips and stares at him for a second and then nods and says, “Okay.” He leans down and kisses Frank softly. “I love you too. You’ll let me know when you figure it out?”

Frank nods. “Let’s get some coffee,” he says. They roll out of bed and go into the kitchen. Frank leaves Gerard to fiddle with the coffee maker while he goes into the family room, puts _Let It Be_ on the stereo, and skips forward to Across the Universe. If he closes his eyes, he can almost feel Grant’s hand on his back again. He rolls his eyes at himself; if he’s going to wallow, he figures he may as well do it right, so he grabs a volume of _The Invisibles_ off the bookshelf, curls up on the couch, and starts reading. After a few minutes, Gerard comes in, hands him a cup of coffee, and curls up next to him.

“You’re reading over my shoulder again,” Frank says mildly after a few minutes.

Gerard huffs. Frank knows he rolls his eyes without even looking at him. “Fine, fine.” He reaches over and grabs his own book before curling back up next to Frank.

Frank loses concentration after a little while and just flips through the book, looking at the art, reading text on the odd panel. He gets to the end, and on the back cover he discovers a forgotten note written to him in black ink from Gerard, from just a couple of weeks after they started dating. He gushes about the book, says things like, _I know you make fun of me for having a boner for Grant Morrison, but I don’t know how anybody could help it after reading this. He has an incredible mind._ But the post script makes Frank choke up a little bit. For all things have changed, some things are still the same: _P.S. I know it’s only been two weeks, but I wasn’t kidding when I said I want everything, and I’m not giving you up for anything or anyone. Except maybe Grant Morrison._ There’s a little winking face drawn after that, and Frank chokes on a laugh. Life is weird and pretty fucking amazing.

They end up leaving the house well before they’re supposed to be at his mom’s for dinner, so they can run some errands. Frank throws the book in the car to take with him. For what, he’s not sure; but he figures it’ll be useful if he ends up having to do any waiting. He realizes exactly what he wants to do with it when he sees a UPS store with an OPEN sign lit up. He pulls in and parks. Gerard shoots a questioning look at him and Frank says, “I’ll just be a minute,” grabs the book, and runs inside.

He grabs a padded UPS envelope, sweet-talks the girl at the counter out of a Post-it, and writes a short note: _This is as much yours as mine. Check the back cover. Miss you. xo frank_. He addresses the envelope from the address he programmed into his phone, pays the price to overnight it so it will be there by Monday, and goes back out to Gerard. Who is apparently on the phone.

"Oh, here he is. Yeah, I have no idea what he's got up his sleeve. He didn't tell me."  Gerard wrinkles his nose at Frank.

Frank just shrugs and raises an eyebrow at Gerard.

"Who do you think?" Gerard says to him. Frank smiles and gestures for Gerard to hand the phone over. "Hold on, he's asking for the phone."

"Hi."

"Frank. How are you today?" There's something about Grant's tone that makes Frank think he and Gerard must have talked about him, maybe about what they talked about in bed earlier.

"Good. I'm good," Frank answers, rubbing at a spot of ink on his finger from writing the note a few minutes earlier.

"Frank, you know you can tell me anything, anything at all, don't you?" Grant says. Frank bites his lip, has to reach out and take Gerard's hand because he needs to hold onto _something_.

"I know," he whispers.

"Good. Gerard said you're going to have dinner with your mother?"

Frank clears his throat, "Yeah. She couldn't stay the whole show last night because she had to work early this morning, so we're gonna have dinner and catch up. What're you up to today? More work?"

"Always. Actually, it's a tedious bit of editing today for my book, but soon enough it will be done and sent off to be published in the summer. Gerard's call was the perfect opportunity to take a break," Grant explains.

"Have you eaten anything?"  It slips out before Frank can stop himself. He covers his face with his free hand while Gerard laughs at him.

"I hadn't yet," Grant says, his voice full of fondness. "But I will as soon as we hang up."

"Okay, good. I should, uh, my mom is expecting us soon. I need to drive. Here's Gerard."

"Frank," Grant says before Frank can hand off the phone.

"Yeah?"

"Have a good time with your mum. Call me the next time you have a chance, yeah?"

"Of course," Frank tells him and hands Gerard the phone. He listens to Gerard’s side of the conversation as he drives. Both of them seem to be going off on whatever random tangents cross their minds since the conversation jumps around a lot. It makes Frank laugh. He pulls into his mom’s driveway and puts the car in park.

“Okay, we’re here. Love you. Bye.”

Frank’s stomach clenches again, but it’s getting better. He’ll take it.

*

Frank can hear his phone ringing in his bag almost as soon as they walk into the greenroom NBC made available to them for the evening. He feels like an ice cube and Gerard keeps coughing, which is _really_ not good, so he ignores the phone for a minute and sets the electric tea kettle going so Gerard can have some Throat Coat. He finally fishes inside his bag and gets his phone. The missed call was from Grant, so he immediately calls back.

"Frank." Grant's voice sounds funny.

"Yeah? Is everything okay?" Frank's stomach turns unpleasantly.

"No, nothing is wrong at all. Someone knocked on my door a while ago. I wasn't expecting anyone, so obviously I found this somewhat surprising. I opened the door to find a nice gentleman in a brown outfit handing me a signature pad and then a package. From you. And I had no idea what you could possibly be sending me, so I was very careful opening the envelope. And there was one of my books and a note.  I did as you said and looked at the back cover.  And. _Frank_...." Grant trails off.

"Grant–"

"Frank, I've been trying to come up with something to say for the past half an hour, and I am still completely speechless," Grant says. "So, I suppose all I can say is thank you for sharing this with me. So very much."

"You're welcome," Frank breathes. He's kind of speechless himself. He hadn’t really thought about Grant’s reaction, he’d pretty much sent it without thinking beyond _Grant needs this_. And it _is_ something special. For both of them, in different ways.

Grant clears his throat. “I’m sorry, you’re probably busy.”

“No! We just had soundcheck and it’s fucking freezing. Like, so cold it’s fucking with Gerard’s voice, and he’s been coughing a lot, and he’s huddled up in the corner of a couch looking kind of miserable. I’m making him some of his tea. And then we’re going to sit together and hope we warm up some, before we have to go back out and freeze some more,” Frank babbles as he drops a teabag into a mug and squirts in a generous amount of honey. He hands Gerard the tea and then curls around him on the couch, rests his head on Gerard’s shoulder. “Gerard is wearing a Santa hat. You should see it. I’ll take a picture for you the next time I get up. He looks adorable.”

Grant laughs in his ear. “I’m sure he does. And I’ll hold you to that.”

“Gimme,” Gerard says, reaching for the phone, and Frank lets him take it.

“It’s freezing. This right here is why we spend most of the winter in L.A.,” Gerard whines. Frank hears Grant chuckle.

“Oh, don’t even front,” Frank says toward the mouthpiece, “You were totally digging the snow.”   

“It’s pretty!” Gerard exclaims. “That doesn’t mean I want to be out freezing in it.”  Frank tightens his hold on Gerard and cuddles closer. “Yeah, it’s helping. Yeah, he’s helping too. I guess.” Gerard cuts him a teasing look.

“I’m totally helping,” Frank says and then shoves his still-cold hands up under Gerard’s layers and onto his stomach. Gerard yelps and jumps in his seat, sloshing a little tea over the side of his mug; Frank grins into his shoulder.

“That’s not helping! It’s like you want me to get sick,” Gerard says dramatically, but he doesn’t try to move away from Frank’s hands beyond the initial shock of movement. “He has cold hands,” Gerard informs Grant. “Yeah, Florida was good. Warmer, anyway. Frank thinks he found our second support band for the U.S. tour.”

Frank steals the phone from Gerard and starts talking, “They’re called Neon Trees. They have a good sound and I liked their vibe. We’re gonna call them next in a couple of days, I think. Actually, they were already on the list, but seeing them live clinched it. They were awesome. If we’re lucky, they’re still free.”

“So I take it you had a good time in Florida, too?” Grant asks. Frank grins into the phone.

“Definitely. Saw a few great bands and a couple shitty ones, but it was fun,” Frank says. He talks more about the bands, about the ones Grant’s heard, the ones Frank thinks he should check out, and then Gerard is stealing the phone again.

“I forgot to tell you, Mikey and I have been making a lot of progress in the last few days. It’s like  being a kid again and making up stories to tell each other, but like, it’ll be _real_. Whatever we write will be part of the actual continuity. It’s kind of a mindtrip. Did that ever happen to you?” Gerard asks.

And then they start talking about writing comics. Gerard mentions something about _The Invisibles_ and there’s a long pause where he can hear Grant speaking, but can’t understand him, and then Gerard says, “He sent you that? ... _Frankie_.” Gerard’s hands are full of phone and mug, so he rests his cheek on the top of Frank’s head for a moment. They sit like that, trading the phone back and forth, talking to Grant, until they have to go back out again. It’s pretty much the best way to pass the time. They say their goodbyes just a few minutes before they have to go on again. Gerard closes with a quiet “love you too” and Frank’s stomach flops again. That jealous, bottled-up feeling is still there, but there’s something warm waiting below it, stronger and better.

***

Gerard is pacing around their greenroom with his phone clenched in his hand.  He gets terrible signal wherever they are, somewhere in the bowels of the Gibson Ampitheatre, and Grant was supposed to show for soundcheck and he never arrived.  Mikey’s already tried to stop him from pacing once and Gerard had shrugged him off.  The look he got in return made him feel shitty, but it’s the kind of shitty that just makes him more snappish.  Frank’s avoiding him, talking low-voiced with Ray and one of their guitar techs in the corner.

The mood he’s in is especially irritating because they’re coming off several great days. They’d gone to bed perfectly happy and Gerard woke feeling like he’d not only woken up on the wrong side of the bed, but maybe not even anywhere in the general vicinity of the bed. There isn’t enough coffee in the fucking world, there are too many people everywhere all the time, and he is just fucking annoyed with everything.

When the phone vibrates in his palm, he punches the button and says “Grant?”  He sees Frank’s head snap up across the room but he turns his back, hunching his shoulders a little and kicking at the baseboard.  

“Gerard,” Grant says across the line.  The connection’s crackly and fading in and out and he sounds out of breath.  “I’m so, so sorry.  I know I was supposed to be there, but … accident on the 101 and I sat in the queue forever, then got diverted, and  - dinner meeting in Santa Monica - already rescheduled once … don’t think I’ll arrive in time for your performance.  I’m so terribly sorry.”  Enough of it comes through for Gerard to understand - Grant’s not coming.  He’s torn between sinking disappointment and punching something.

“I -”  He doesn’t really know what to say.  It’s fucking L.A.  This shit happens, all the time, but - Grant.  “It’s fine, Grant, I understand.”  He can’t really sell it, not at all, and he knows he won’t fool Grant.  Shit.

“Frank sent me - hotel info, I … when I arrive.”  It sucks so hard that they can’t even go home, but there’s just not time in the schedule.

“See you whenever you -”  Gerard stops talking.  The connection’s cut off altogether.  He kicks the baseboard a little harder, stuffing his phone back into his pocket.  It vibrates again a few minutes later with a voicemail or a text, and he knows he’s being an asshole by not looking but he has to go warm up anyway.

*

It’s not one of their better sets.  Mikey’s having equipment issues, and it’s a typical festival lineup which always causes at least a few clusterfucks, and Gerard’s not _sick_ but his voice is not a hundred percent when they finally do go on, which always irritates him.  And the crowd - it’s not their usual crowd, and that always fucking _does_ things to him.  He deals with a heckler by heckling right back, feeling a little curl of snide satisfaction that he can talk back to _somebody_.

The Pumpkins’ set is after theirs, so while Social D plays Gerard goes and cleans up fast so he can go back with Mikey to listen for a while.  He expects Frank to come too, but he’s nowhere in sight when Gerard emerges from the greenroom bathroom, and Gerard’s phone is showing a missed text from Frank.  He goes to the Messages screen.   _Went to see about a car,_ it reads.   _Text you when it gets here._  There’s a blue dot next to Grant’s name too - a text he sent Gerard before the show - and he can see the entire unread message in the text preview.  

 _I love you,_ it says.  

Gerard is officially a terrible person.  He’s distracted throughout Billy’s set, waiting for Frank’s text.  When it finally comes, he goes back to the greenroom for his show bag and makes his way to where the car and Frank are waiting.  The driver’s polite.  So is Frank.  That’s probably a bad sign.

It’s a really short drive to the Hilton, and someone in their management obviously felt bad and sprung for an executive suite.  Either that, or Frank had done something sneaky with their reservation - _Frank sent me the hotel info_ , Grant had said.  For all that he pretends otherwise, Frank’s a romantic.  Hell, he’s got it inked on his hand.  But right now, Gerard knows he’s pissed.  Running high on show adrenaline, he’d pressed in close during “I’m Not Okay”, and while Frank had leaned in to share Gerard’s mic for his line, he’d twisted away almost immediately afterwards.  Now he’s changing into an old tee shirt and flannel pants without a word, grabbing his notebook and going to sit at the table by the plate glass windows.  He looks gorgeous with the Universal lights sparkling behind him, but he’s writing, and ignoring Gerard.

By the time Grant gets there, Gerard is practically climbing the walls.  Frank’s really fucking good at avoiding conversations he doesn’t want to have, and really good at pushing all Gerard’s buttons at the same time.  Gerard is the one to let Grant into the room, and he wraps him up in a hug immediately, burying his face in Grant’s neck and inhaling the scent of his soap and aftershave.  “I’m sorry,” Grant says immediately, running his hands up and down Gerard’s back.  “So, so sorry.”

“No, I am,” Gerard whispers.  “I wasn’t very - I should have been -”  He fumbles to a halt.  Grant’s looking between Gerard, still in his stage outfit, and Frank in his pajamas, curled into an impossibly tiny ball in a desk chair.  The pages of his journal are fluttering shut over his fingers, and he’s wearing a blank expression, like he can’t even comprehend what’s going on in the other corner of the room.

“This is -” Grant starts.  “Frank?”  

Frank struggles to uncurl himself from the chair, standing barefoot and awkward by the window.  “Hi,” he says quietly.  

Gerard sees Grant close his eyes for a second, feels him take a deep breath.  “Tell me about your day,” he says, mostly to Gerard who’s still in his arms.  Gerard tips his face into Grant’s shirtfront for another breath of him, wool and soap and a hint of smoke, though Grant doesn’t smoke himself, and then goes to sit on the end of the bed.

“Sound problems, running late all day, don’t think the crowd could have cared less,” Gerard ticks off after a moment.  “Typical festival shit.  I got to see Billy, which is always great,” he offers.

“Ah, Mr. Corgan,” Grant says.  “I’ve always felt a certain amount of kinship with him.” Grant grins that beautiful grin of his and rubs a hand over his scalp, and Gerard giggles.  He’d never really thought of that.

Frank snorts.  “You’ve got a type, Gee,” he mutters.

“You’re my type, Frank,” Gerard shoots back.  Frank just snorts again and goes back to his notebook.  Gerard frowns.

Grant frowns too, looking back at Gerard.  “But most of the day I was sort of a jackass,” Gerard admits quietly.  Grant nods once and pulls away, and Gerard tracks him across the room, where he leans back against the edge of Frank’s table, looking starched and gorgeous in his dark suit.  He sets a hand over Frank’s, holds it there until Frank looks up.  

“Tell me about your day, Frank.”

“Gerard was sort of a jackass,” Frank echoes, and Gerard bites his lip even though he wants to say something bitchy back.  He knows it’s true.  Frank isn’t done, though.  “I’m tired.  I want my dogs.  I missed you,” he adds quietly.

Grant sits down on the side of the bed.  His shoulder’s touching Gerard’s, but he’s still looking at Frank.  “Come here,” he says, and Frank does, though he takes his time about it, capping his pen and sticking it between the pages of his notebook, pushing himself up from his chair.  He eventually arrives in front of Grant - he’s pointedly not looking at Gerard - and lets Grant pull him in between his spread knees.

It’s sort of strange to see Frank bending down to kiss Grant - his hair falls down to hide his face and Gerard wants to reach out and brush it behind his ear.  He tucks his fingers under his thigh and watches instead as they kiss, Frank’s hand lifting to cradle Grant’s cheek.

Grant runs his hands up Frank's back and pulls him closer. They're so gorgeous, but Frank isn't really relaxing. Gerard can see the tension across his shoulders, in his jaw. The hand on Grant's face is gentle, but Gerard can tell it's because Frank is forcing it to be. Suddenly all the agitation and frustration from the day is gone, replaced by a wave of guilt and regret. He knows it wasn't _just_ him that put Frank in this mood, but he also knows that if he'd been less of an asshole, it wouldn't be as bad. He might have even been able to head it off.

“Wait,” Gerard says before he can stop himself.  He doesn’t know quite what he’s doing, but he can’t sit still any longer.  They both look at him, and he continues, “Let me.”

“Let you what?” Frank says with a bit of a scowl.  It’s one of the first questions Frank’s addressed directly to him in hours.

“Let you do what?” Grant’s softer and much more direct.

Gerard hesitates for a moment, but just a moment.  “Anything.”  He doesn’t look away; he can see Grant considering him, one hand still curled loosely around Frank’s back.  He knows what he wants; it’s just them, however they want him.  But first....  “Frank.  I’m so sorry.”

Frank's eyes slip closed; he takes a deep breath and nods. Gerard knows Frank can hold onto anger like nobody else, knows it will take him a little bit longer to really let it go, to forgive him, but he really wishes Frank would look at him. It's been so long, months, since they had a day like this.  Gerard almost forgot how fucking much it sucks when Frank is mad at him.

Frank takes another deep breath. "You're so fucking self-involved sometimes, Gerard." The words are quiet and they cut, but Gerard can't argue. It’s the truth and he's tried really hard to be less so, but clearly he fucked it up today.

"I know," Gerard says quietly. "Frankie, I'm sorry." Frank runs a hand down his face, squinches his eyes shut tight and when he opens them, he's looking at Gerard.

“Okay,” Frank says.  “Okay.”  He looks away from Gerard, back at Grant, runs his fingers down Grant’s cheek.

“Gerard,” Grant says, “Come here.”  He reaches out, and Gerard twists around to kneel next to them on the mattress.  Grant curls an arm around him and tugs Gerard against his side.  

Frank shifts over to accommodate another body; they’re still not touching, not really, and Gerard says miserably, “Frank.”  He actually sighs in relief when Frank finally leans over and kisses him.

The kiss starts out hard, no fucking around. Gerard goes with it, lets Frank have whatever he wants. But after a few moments Frank starts relaxing. Gerard grabs Frank’s elbow and pulls him a little closer. Frank pulls back and rests his forehead against Gerard’s.

“I’m sorry we can’t go home,” Gerard whispers and finally lets himself push Frank’s hair back behind his ear. “And I’m sorry I snapped at you when you were trying to be nice to me this morning.”

“Gee, it’s–” Frank tries to interrupt, but Gerard presses on.

“And I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were having a shitty day too.”  He turns his face toward Grant.  “And I’m sorry you’re stuck with two miserable assholes for the night.”

Grant smiles softly and pulls Gerard in for a kiss, and then does the same to Frank. “I’d be a shitty boyfriend if I was only here for the good days and never the bad, wouldn’t I?”

A delighted laugh escapes Gerard and he sees the first genuine smile on Frank’s face that he’s seen all day. Boyfriend seems like such a silly word sometimes, but he can’t deny how great it sounds coming from Grant and referring to them.

“So.  Let us see if we can’t salvage a good night from a bad day, hmm?”  Grant’s smile has turned into a bit of a smirk.  

“You’re the boss, boss,” Frank says.  It’s such a fucking relief to hear him being flippant instead of sarcastic that Gerard just gets caught up in staring at him.  God, he loves Frank’s _face_.  After a minute he becomes aware that they’re both staring back at him and he looks down at his hands, curled loosely in his lap.

“Anything,” he repeats.  After a moment, he feels fingers on his chin.  Callouses.  Frank.  He lets his face be turned back up.  

“Get undressed.”  It’s Grant, not Frank, who says it.  Grant shifts back on the bed a little and Frank climbs into his lap, curls up with his temple against Grant’s cheek.  They’re both watching.  Waiting.  

Gerard shoves himself far enough back on the mattress to get one foot up and work on the zipper of his boot.  He hears Frank ask about Grant’s meeting which was apparently with the We3 people, and Grant starts to reply as Gerard’s pulling off his second boot.  He wants to stop and listen, interrupt with a comment about the Umbrella Academy movie, but he already got called self-absorbed once tonight, and Grant told him to undress.  He bites his lip and pushes himself off the mattress to deal with the rest of his clothes.

He goes slow.  He’s not making a show of it, because he realizes without being told that that’s not what this is about.  Yet they’re not ignoring him.  They’re still talking to each other; the words have practically faded into a buzz, but either Grant or Frank consistently has their eyes on him.  Gerard’s still naked before he knows it.  He waits.

Grant pulls Frank in for another kiss.  He’s taking his time too, and Frank is clearly letting him set the pace.  “Come here, love,” he says to Gerard over Frank’s head.  “Take care of Frank’s clothing too.”

Taking care of Frank’s clothing is as easy as sweeping his shirt over his head and untying the drawstring on his flannel pants.  Gerard’s not hurrying, and it still takes no time at all.  He sweeps the backs of his knuckles up Frank’s sides afterwards, over the bumps of his collarbones, wraps both hands around the back of Frank’s neck to get a double fistful of hair.  “This is getting really long again,” he murmurs for no particular reason.  Gerard loves Frank’s hair; he’s loved it in every style it’s gone through, though, so this is not a surprise.  “You look like me circa two-thousand-four.”

“That’s exactly it,” Frank snarks gently.

“You’re going back in time?”  

“I wouldn’t stop there,” Frank says softly.  Gerard flinches.  It wasn’t the greatest year for them, no.  “No, I mean - I wouldn’t stay; I’d have to know I could come back to this.”  Frank glances back at Grant, just a step away on the edge of the bed, and Grant reaches out to tug him back onto the mattress as Gerard attempts to breathe through the clenching of his heart.  

“Stay close,” Grant murmurs with a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and Frank scoots up to lean against the pillows as Grant stands up facing Gerard.

Gerard stands still as Grant runs his fingers over various parts of his body, apparently at random: bicep, collarbone, the curve of his stomach, the rise of his hipbone.  He’s no more than half-hard, but this is starting to work on him - the slow deliberate slide of fingertips, never lingering, never speeding up.  Never touching him exactly where he wants to be touched.  Grant’s still fully dressed, too, in all black like a mobster or a supervillain.  He looks fucking edible.  Gerard tells him that and he smiles, tipping Gerard’s face up and leaning in for a kiss.  “Take it off now,” he says.

Gerard licks his lips. “Yeah, okay.”

He runs his hands across Grant’s shoulders and down his chest. He glances up at Grant’s face. His eyes are on Gerard and he when he sees Gerard looking, he smiles. Gerard has to smile back. He can’t not. He can’t seem to breathe, either. Grant brings a hand up to his face and kisses him briefly.

“Now get back to work,” Grant says when he pulls back.

“He’s easily distracted, it’s true,” Frank snarks from the bed. Gerard flips him off blindly and gets to work on the buttons of Grant’s suit coat. When he gets them open, he really can’t help but wrap his arms around Grant’s waist under the coat and rub his face on Grant’s chest. He pulls back quickly, though. Because, really, he wants Grant naked. He pushes the coat off Grant’s shoulders, tosses it over the desk chair and goes for Grant’s tie. And that’s when he loses patience, because he can feel Grant swallowing under his fingers and he really just needs the clothes gone. He doesn’t rush, or pop off any buttons, but after that he speeds up. Before long, all Grant’s clothes are hanging over the chair but his briefs. Finally Gerard pauses with his fingers under the waistband and looks up at Grant again.

“We really missed you,” he says.

“The feeling is mutual,” Grant tells him, hands settling over Gerard’s on his waistband.  “I’ve been watching, since Frank first reminded me.  Your fans are rather quick to get videos online, it’s gratifying.  But it’s not the same.”

“You’ve been watching us on YouTube?”  Gerard has to peek at Frank, then, and yes, Frank’s expression is just as incredulous and joyful as his voice sounded.  Gerard’s lips twitch.  

“If I have the entire internet on my mobile phone, I may as well put it to good use,” Grant says.  

“You’ve been watching us,” Gerard repeats quietly.

Grant chuckles.  “You like that idea, Gerard?”

“I fucking love that idea,” Gerard says meaningfully, looking at Grant through half-lidded eyes.  “And right now, you don’t have to watch.  You can touch.  You can do whatever you want.”

“I know,” Grant says, dragging a hand through Gerard’s hair.  “And I will.  Finish the job, love.”

Gerard bites his lip and tugs on the elastic waist of Grant’s briefs, pulling the material away from his hips and pushing it far enough down that he can step out of them.  Then Grant’s naked, cock just starting to curve up against his belly, and he is so fucking beautiful standing by the bed, waiting for him, for them.  He pulls Gerard in by the hips and kisses him again, demanding this time, steering them both to the mattress.

Gerard lets him; it’s so fucking easy to let Grant take the lead, easier than it is with Frank.  He can’t help but push back with Frank.  And tonight is not the night to push Frank.  He knows all this, on some level that’s mostly instinctive.  He can’t help but be grateful that _Grant_ knows it.  He’s just grateful for Grant, really.

He crawls onto the bed, stopping by Frank’s hip to stretch and kiss him, angling their lips together just right and waiting until Frank opens for him to stroke his tongue against Frank’s, enjoying the taste and the texture and the little noises he makes in his throat when he really gets into it.  God, he could have been doing this all day.  Gerard feels Grant’s fingers settle onto his back at the very base of his spine, nudging his crack before sweeping up his back and back down.  “Turn over,” Grant tells him.  He kisses Frank softly one more time and obeys, stretching his legs in front of him and propping himself up on his elbows.

Grant tosses a bottle of lube onto the bed next to Gerard’s hip, but ignores it in favor of straddling his waist and leaning in for his own kiss.  Grant shifts back just a little bit and Gerard's cock slides against Grant's ass. Gerard has to break the kiss to gasp. He struggles to get his elbows out from under himself and lie down fully so he can reach up to cup Grant's face.  It's not something Gerard would ever _ask_ for from Grant, but goddamn, he wants it if it's ever on offer. Maybe someday.

Grant covers Gerard's hands where they’re resting against his cheeks, then pulls them off, lacing their fingers together palm to palm.  He tugs so they're resting against the bed just above Gerard’s head and kisses him again. Grant kisses along Gerard's jaw, and then sucks lightly at the most sensitive spot on his neck. Gerard's first response is to arch up again, but Grant has him pinned. Gerard flexes. Not to get away, he doesn't want to get away, but to feel the resistance again. It makes him moan and shudder.

The mattress shifts a little as Frank rolls on his side and starts dropping kisses along the tender skin of Gerard's inner arm and up Grant's shoulder. Grant lifts his head and Gerard nearly whimpers, but he leans over to kiss Frank and that's really fucking hot too.  “Frank,” he murmurs, “all right back here?  I’d never want you to think that -”

“I’m just fine, Grant,” Frank answers.  “Watching.  Listening.  Carry on.”  His voice is warm; Gerard imagines the hand gesture he’s sure must have accompanied the statement; he turns his own head and Frank smooths Gerard’s hair out of his face, leans down to kiss him soundly.  “You too,” he adds in a whisper.  Gerard does whimper this time.

Grant’s already sliding back, sitting up and running his palms down Gerard’s thighs until Gerard can bend his knees, spread his legs as Grant fingers him.  He rubs gently at the puckered skin of Gerard’s ass until Gerard is full out moaning, and only then does Grant pop the top of the lube, slicking up his fingers before slipping them inside, stretching him gently, unceasingly.  

Gerard can’t hold back his gasps; he’s tossing his head back and forth, hips lifting to meet each press of fingers.  Grant’s not holding his wrists down anymore, but Gerard hasn’t moved them, just clenched them into fists against the sensations.  He can do this.  Grant watches him approvingly, his own free hand going from pressing on Gerard’s thigh to urge his farther apart to merely running up and down the soft inner skin.

“Please,” Gerard gasps, “Grant, please.”  He can feel Frank, curled up on the bed next to them, repeatedly reaching out to twist pieces of Gerard’s hair out of his face, and when he flattens a palm over Gerard’s vulnerable turned-up wrist and starts stroking his fingers back and forth against Gerard’s palm, Gerard shudders from his head to his toes.  

Grant must take it as a signal, because he pulls his fingers out and slicks himself up quickly, replacing his fingers with his cock.  There’s no hesitation before he slides home, just a strangled noise from both him and Gerard.  Fuck, it feels so good.  

Grant starts moving, setting a steady pace, stroking Gerard's thighs and stomach and chest. Gerard desperately wants to move his arms, to reach up, grab Grant, and kiss him. He stays still, though, and wanting it, thinking about it is almost as good. And then Frank - because he’s Frank, because he always knows - puts a hand on his cheek and turns his head and kisses him until he's dizzy with it. Grant never falters in his pace and he never stops touching Gerard.

Frank pulls back and just stares at Gerard for a second before turning his eyes to Grant. Grant leans down and Gerard thinks _finally_ Grant is going to kiss him again, but instead he's angling toward Frank. Gerard watches them kiss and kiss, watches their faces and listens to each little noise they make. Frank’s hand is still on his face, and Gerard turns his head to suck a couple of Frank’s fingers into his mouth, running his tongue along the knuckles and the callouses - but he keeps his hands where Grant left them.

Grant pulls back from Frank. They share a look and it's intense and just really fucking incredible to see up close like this. Grant leans down and finally his lips are on Gerard's, and he laces their fingers together again. Gerard arches up again and Grant just holds him down firmly, letting him arch up into it, and kisses him so much he can hardly breathe. When Grant eventually pulls back, he doesn't go very far, just to Gerard's ear.

"I’m going to turn you over now, love. And you're going to suck Frank off while I keep fucking you. How does that sound?" Gerard moans because it sounds fucking _good_. He desperately wants Frank's cock in his mouth. And judging from the noise he just made, Frank's pretty eager for it as well.

"Back against the pillows, darling," Grant orders. As Frank gets a couple of pillows situated behind his back, Grant pulls out. Gerard whimpers pathetically even though he knew it was coming. "Over, Gerard." Gerard rolls onto his stomach and pushes up on his knees. He moves so he's kneeling between Frank's legs, with his hands on either side of Frank's hips. Frank's cock is hard and gorgeous and Gerard can't decide which he wants more, Grant's cock back inside him or his mouth on Frank. He licks his lips and waits.

"Jesus fuck, Gerard," Frank swears and runs a hand through Gerard's hair.

Grant slides a hand down his back and then presses back in. Gerard gulps for air. Grant drapes himself over Gerard's back and whispers in his ear, "Now."

Grant lifts back up and starts thrusting at the same steady pace he was before. Gerard braces himself on his elbow, grabs Frank's cock and swallows him down. His voice is already shot. May as well give it a fun reason. Frank moans loud and long and then breaks into profanity when Gerard does the thing with his tongue that Frank likes so much.

"How does it feel, Frank?" Grant asks from behind him; he's a little breathless.

"Fucking... incredible. He's. God, his mouth was made for this," Frank gasps out. "How does he feel, Grant?"

"Fucking incredible," Grant echoes and thrusts a little harder, changes the angle a little bit, and _fuck_ , there's Gerard's prostate. He moans around Frank's cock and has to pull off so he can get a little more air.

"Fuck, Frank."  He gasps when Grant hits his prostate again. "Grant."

"Keep sucking, love," Grant instructs and Gerard goes back down. Frank's fingers clench in his hair and Gerard can't help but thrust back onto Grant's cock, even though he hasn't been told he can. He just _can't_ contain that.

Grant doesn't reprimand him, though, but starts thrusting harder, faster, reaches around and takes Gerard's cock in his hand and starts jacking him off in time with his thrusts. Frank's hips are stuttering now; he's holding back. Gerard wants to tell him to just _go for it_ , but he can't exactly. He's thankful when Grant does it for him.  "Don't hold back, Frank."

And then Frank is fucking his mouth, his hips coming up off the bed with each thrust, moaning half-words, Gerard’s name, Grant’s. Gerard just goes with it, takes him down as far as he can. Within moments, Frank is coming and Gerard swallows it down. Frank collapses against the bed and Gerard stares into his face.

"Fuck, Frankie, love you, love you. Grant," Gerard babbles. Frank pushes Gerard's hair off his face and looks up and behind him at Grant.

"Frank," Grant moans and thrusts hard once, twice, and comes. He pulls out and suddenly Gerard is on his back next to Frank and Grant’s mouth is on Gerard’s cock and he’s fucking Gerard with his fingers and oh _fuck_.  Frank leans over to kiss him again and soon Gerard is coming too, clenching around Grant's fingers and thrusting up into his mouth.

Grant pulls off and rests his head on Gerard’s stomach, staring up at them. Frank reaches out and strokes a hand over Grant’s head and tugs gently on his ear, encouraging him to come up with them. Grant smiles at him, mouth red and shining, and Gerard’s breath catches in his throat. Grant gives in to Frank’s ear-tugging and moves up Gerard’s body. He drops kisses on Gerard’s chest and neck, leans over to kiss Frank, then settles against Gerard’s side, arm slung across his waist.

They should probably clean up. If he knows Frank at all, and he really does, that’ll happen in a minute or two, but for now, they just lie comfortably together. Gerard can feel Grant’s breath on his neck and Frank’s fingers in his hair and he feels completely content. Grant reaches out and traces the tattoos on Frank’s arm with his fingertips.  Frank makes a tiny noise in Gerard’s ear and oh, Gerard knows that noise.  That’s Frank, having too many feelings and not enough words.  Gerard thinks he understands now what Frank is searching for the words to say, and he might be wrong - he’s really, really hoping he’s right - but he knows he can’t rush things.

Lying here in the quiet room, listening to them breathe, Gerard feels the last of the day’s tension evaporate.  It’s sort of stunning, this feeling of having _everything_.  He wants them to have it too.

Frank gets up after a minute and disappears into the bathroom. He returns with the expected washcloth. It takes a minute to get situated again after, but Frank settles back against his side and Grant’s hand goes back to his arm where it’s resting across Gerard’s stomach.

Gerard’s reluctant to close his eyes, because this is their only time with Grant for another week.  He wants to be able to see both Grant and Frank’s face when they are talking.  He wants, quite honestly, to fuck until none of them can move, but here he is, being _responsible_ or some shit.  “San Diego tomorrow,” he murmurs.  They can sleep in a little, it’s fucking incredible.

“Wish I could come.  Wish it was Comic-Con,” Grant murmurs back, sounding half-asleep.

Gerard gets a little thrill at the thought.  Grant’s the rock star at Comic-Con; it’s amazing to watch him.  Gerard’s never stopped being ridiculously excited that he gets to participate in it himself.  “I can’t wait for that,” he whispers back.

Grant makes a little amused noise and kisses Gerard’s shoulder.  “They’ll take the piss out of us for sure,” he says.  “All of them.  Vince already started on me.”

“The other Frank,” Frank yawns.  Gerard glances up and over and yes, his eyes are open.  Gerard was sure he’d fallen asleep.  Looks like he’s close.  

“That’s what he calls you,” Grant says fondly.  

“Mmm.  Bizarro-Frank.  Aren’t you afraid one of us will sink back into the Underverse if you introduce us?” Frank says.  Gerard lets out a honk of laughter.  

Grant’s laughing too.  “Frank, a Superman joke?  I’m touched.”

“Only for you,” Frank mutters.  He nuzzles back into Gerard’s shoulder and lets out a sleepy sigh.  “Stop thinking about our Bizarro clones, Gee.”

Gerard sputters, but he can’t deny it.  He was already trying to remember which bag had his sketchbooks.  Grant lays a hand on Gerard’s face and turns it to give him a kiss.  “I want to see the drawings when you’re done,” he teases.  “But Frank’s right.  Sleep.”

It’s so much easier to sleep when Grant and Frank are in bed with him.

***

Gerard wakes up in increments, gradually becoming aware of his legs tangled with Frank’s, of Grant’s hand on his waist. They didn’t shut the curtains last night and the bright morning sun is streaming in the window. Somehow Gerard doesn’t really mind. He’s so comfortable that the thought of moving is almost unbearable. Luckily, he’s pretty sure he won’t have to yet. He’s not totally sure what time it is, but it still feels early. He lies there dozing, relishing every feeling, every breath or movement from Frank and Grant until his bladder makes itself known and he really can’t stay in bed any longer.

It turns out extricating himself from between two sleeping people isn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world, and he ends up jostling Grant and nearly collapsing on top of Frank.

“Sorry, sorry,” Gerard whispers and finally manages to get up off the bed. Frank grumbles in response and rolls closer to Grant, who pulls him close and cracks an eye open at Gerard. “Sorry,” Gerard says again. Grant’s mouth quirks up in a smile and he closes his eye and tightens his arms around Frank.

Gerard forces himself into the bathroom. He briefly contemplates the merits of showering, but dismisses them. He’s incapable of taking a quick shower, and he’d rather not waste precious time with Grant doing so. When he gets back out into the room, Frank and Grant are talking quietly to each other. Grant is running his fingers through Frank’s hair and Frank has his chin propped up on Grant’s chest. Gerard slips into bed and curls up around them.

“Morning,” he says, then kisses Frank’s forehead and Grant’s cheek.

“How much time do we have until lobby call?” Frank asks.

“Hour and a half.”

“Good,” Frank sighs happily. “We have time for breakfast. And I can shower.” Frank sounds almost rapturous. That kind of _is_ Frank’s perfect sort of morning. The only thing that could make it better would be sex, and they probably don’t have time for that. Well, not if they want breakfast or time for Frank to shower.

Frank leans up and kisses Grant then Gerard, and then gets out of bed. Gerard rolls into his place, resting his head on Grant’s chest, and watches Frank’s ass as he rummages through his bag for clothes and toiletries. Gerard looks up; Frank’s hair is falling in front of his face yet again and Gerard wishes he could reach out and tuck it behind Frank’s ear.

Grant runs a hand down Gerard’s back and murmurs in his ear, “All mornings should begin exactly like this.”

“Yes,” Gerard agrees and kisses Grant’s chest.

Frank glances up at them and smiles. “Order breakfast while I’m showering,” he tells them and then disappears into the bathroom. When the shower starts, Gerard sighs and rolls off the bed.

“You want your usual egg and toast?” Gerard asks Grant.

Grant smiles at him. “Yes. And tea.” Gerard nods and picks up the phone to order for them all. He wants to just get back in bed, but instead he pulls on some jeans and a shirt. He picks up his stage clothes to pack them and notices that his shirt must have finally ripped out when he was undressing last night. He’d been expecting it – he even has a backup packed in his bag – but he still feels a pang that it’s gone. That shirt served him well. He stands staring at it for a moment. He doesn’t want to throw it _away_ \- you can’t just toss a lucky shirt - but keeping it is also probably dumb.

“Keep it until the end of the tour, love,” Grant suggests as he gets out of bed. Gerard laughs. He’s glad Grant understands their superstitious natures.

“Good idea.” Gerard shoves the shirt in his bag and watches Grant dress. Which, really, should not be as sexy as it is, but Gerard finds that he has to adjust himself a bit by the end of it. Grant catches him doing it and laughs. He steps into Gerard’s space, grabs his hips to pull him close and smiles down at him. Gerard smiles back, wraps his arms around Grant, and kisses him until Frank comes out of the bathroom rubbing his head vigorously with a towel. He rolls his eyes at them, but comes up and presses close anyway. Grant lets go of Gerard, backs Frank to the dresser and lifts him up onto it. Frank wraps his legs around Grant’s waist.

“It’s not fucking nice to tease when we don’t have time,” Frank gasps as Grant sucks on his neck.

“I always follow through eventually,” Grant promises and pulls back. Gerard licks his lips and takes a deep, calming breath.

“Eventually isn’t soon enough,” Frank murmurs, hands squeezing Grant’s sides.

“Unfortunately, it will have to do, because I cannot be expected to keep from kissing you at all.” Grant leans down and kisses Frank softly, as if to prove the point. The kiss is punctuated by a knock on the door. Grant backs up to let Frank hop down from the dresser and Gerard takes another deep breath before going to open the door. The room service people roll their food in on a cart and set it up on the table. Frank produces some tip money from nowhere because he’s prepared like that, and then they’re gone again.

They eat and laugh and talk for the next hour. Gerard is so acutely thankful that they have this time with Grant. He’s not sure how they’re going to handle it when it’s the full tour and they’re gone for weeks and weeks, when right now just one week away felt like an eternity. It’s kind of amazing to him how _necessary_ Grant is to them now, how no day is really complete until they talk to him at least once. It’s with great reluctance that Gerard finishes off his waffles and takes the last bite of scrambled egg.

Grant calls the concierge to have his car brought from the garage and they gather all their things together and file out the door to the elevator.  When they reach the lobby Gerard sees Grant’s car already pulling up outside, so they walk him straight to the door. Gerard wraps his arms around Grant’s neck and kisses him briefly, then pulls back, leaving his hands on Grant’s neck.  “Call, okay?”

Grant nods and smiles, kisses him again, then reaches for Frank. Frank wraps his arms around Grant’s waist and tucks his head under Grant’s chin. Grant squeezes him tight and pushes back just enough to get a finger under Frank’s chin so he can kiss him.

“Just one week,” Grant says. They both nod in response. He gives them both one last quick peck and is out the door.

Frank grabs Gerard’s hand as they turn back toward the lobby.  He hadn’t noticed anyone when they came down, but now the first thing Gerard sees is Mikey’s face. Mikey is smirking at them. Ray, on the other hand, has his mouth hanging wide open. And everyone else in their crew who is standing to the side by all their luggage is wearing an expression displaying various degrees of surprise.

“Oops,” Frank says gleefully next to him and then bursts out laughing so hard he has to bend over. Gerard drags Frank over to the rest and opens his mouth a couple of times and then closes it again.

“So,” Ray says after a few moments.

“We’re,” Gerard starts, “It’s....” Frank just laughs harder.

Mikey finally rescues him. “They’re dating.”

“Well, okay.” Ray still sounds kind of stunned, but seems to remember himself after a couple of beats. “You guys are happy, right? You’re good?” He glances somewhat conspicuously at Frank, but Gerard doesn’t mind. He fucking loves Ray Toro.

“Yeah,” Frank answers seriously and squeezes Gerard’s hand; Gerard squeezes back. “Better than good.”

***

Even after _accidentally making out with Grant in front of their entire crew, how is this their life_ , Frank and Gerard don’t get much - well, they get the expected amount of crap.  This is their guys they’re talking about, after all.  But it stops quickly.  Frank wonders after a couple days if Mikey said something to them, or maybe they’re just starting to add up in their head all the times over the past couple of tour legs that they’ve heard Frank or Gerard on the phone with Grant and realizing that this isn’t just some casual thing.

Most of the rest of the week flies.  Gerard seems a little tired, under the weather, but he pulls through, and after L.A. - after _seeing Grant_ , Frank reminds himself wryly - Frank flails crazily through San Diego.  Even the fucking Artic weather in St. Louis and Chicago can’t stop what feels like a headfirst freefall.  They’re headed the wrong direction across the continent, though, and Frank can feel it in his gut.

Gerard crashes almost as soon as they get back to the hotel after the Chicago show, but Frank is still wired, definitely not ready to sleep, and too restless to read. He texts Mikey to see what he's up to and he gets _Playing angry birds and watching the history channel_ in response.

 _are these solitary activities?_ Frank taps back.

 _nah_

Frank makes sure he has his keycard, slips quietly out the door and walks over to Mikey's room. He briefly contemplates a cigarette break, but it's so fucking cold out there, he's pretty sure he'd freeze into a man-sized ball of ice.  He knocks on Mikey's door and has to wait a couple of moments before it opens.

"Sorry, I was about to win the level," Mikey explains with a shrug. Frank just laughs.

"Gee's asleep and I'm bored," Frank explains once they're sitting side-by-side on the bed. "And I can't call Grant because he's got another dinner meeting with Hollywood types.”

"I see how I rank," Mikey says totally deadpan.

Frank punches him lightly in the arm. "Maybe I just came for some girl talk, Mikeyway."

Mikey rests his hands on his chin, makes a stupid face, and says in an unnaturally high voice, "Tell me _all about_ how fucking in love you are with Grant and my brother, Frankie. Please?"

Frank's mouth goes dry and he plays with his hoodie strings. It's weird to hear someone else use that word in reference to him when he's hardly even let himself _think_ it yet. Mikey sits up and raises an eyebrow at him. Frank shifts uncomfortably.

"That's what it is, isn't it?" Mikey asks.

"Yeah," Frank breathes out. "Yeah. I just... it's. I don't know. It's complicated."

"Dude, it seems pretty simple to me. Unless there's something else going on."

"No, you're right. It's. I need to just grow a pair and fucking say it." Frank mutters half to himself and toys with the phone in his pocket and grimaces. "But not over the fucking phone."

Mike lifts a fist and Frank bumps it with his own.

"Wanna see what stupid monster movie is on Sci-Fi?" Mikey asks.

"Definitely," Frank says and then laughs, relieved and happy. God, he can be an idiot sometimes. He nudges Mikey with his elbow, "Hey, thanks for the girl talk."

Mikey rolls his eyes and turns on the television and does victory arms when he finds _Chupacabra: Dark Seas_ is on. Frank grins. His best friend is fucking awesome.

They have the next day off, and on the spur of the moment Frank finds a barber shop, has the barber cut off about half the mass of hair hanging around his face.  Gerard stares when he comes back, stares like he’s never seen Frank before, and he’s got his hands in Frank’s hair as soon as Frank stands still for more than ten seconds.  Frank wants to roll his eyes - how many hairstyles have they had between them at this point, seriously - but Gee’s pushing his fingers through the strands and whispering, “I can see your face,” and Frank can’t really make fun of him when he’s this abruptly fucking turned on.

Most of the rest of the day, after that, takes place in bed.  Frank’s not about to complain, not when Gerard’s determined to explore every inch of Frank’s skin, to press him into the mattress and spread him open and generally make him lose his fucking mind.  They call Grant at some point, and Frank’s too blissed out to mention it to him either.  It goes until the next day, until they’re on the bus again, trundling from Detroit towards Toronto in the wee hours.  Frank’s asleep in his bunk, cheek smashed against the pillow, when the phone vibrates against his chest where he’s rolled over onto it in his sleep.

He fumbles for the touchscreen, thankful that he remembered to put it on silent.  It’s Grant calling, and some bleary math seems to indicate that it’s after midnight in _Grant’s_ time zone.  He was at a dinner party earlier; he must have just gotten home, but he wouldn’t be calling so late unless -

“‘Lo,” Frank mumbles.  “Grant.  Everything okay?”

“Oh,” Grant says.  “Everything’s fine, so sorry.  S’late, I just -”  He sounds like he’s been drinking, a bit, and Frank wakes up just enough to picture him, flushed and loose and hands everywhere, and his dick wakes up enough to appreciate the mental image, and Frank hums a little into the phone.

“It’s okay,” Frank yawns.  “What -”

“You cut your hair.”  It’s oddly intense, the same way Gerard had said it, and Frank had no idea anyone was so interested in his hair, geez.  “I want to -”  He cuts himself off with a little noise in his throat, and Frank can’t help echoing it.  Grant’s maybe a little drunk, and calling him in the middle of the night, and has apparently been watching them on YouTube again, which makes something hot and tight settle right around his lungs.

“You’re too fucking far away,” Frank mutters helplessly.  

“You’re - Frank, it’s so late, you must think I’m fucking mad to call you this late, but - I couldn’t help it.”  He whispers it like a secret, and Frank rushes to reassure him.

“Any time, Grant, I mean that," he says seriously, but tacks on a teasing, "If this is all just to tell me you hate my hair at four in the morning, you’re lucky I love you.”  Frank freezes as soon as the words tumble out of his sleepy mouth, and he hears a sharp intake of breath from the phone speaker, and then silence, long enough for Frank to bite his tongue - too late - and start freaking out.  He didn’t mean it that way - except he totally meant it that way, he just didn’t mean to say it that way, so flippant, over the fucking _phone_ , a fucking continent away.  “Grant, I -” he stammers, stops.  Grant says his name, repeats it a couple times, and in a flurry of confusion Frank just finishes, “I gotta go, fuck.  I’m gonna wake everyone - Grant -”

“ _Frank._ ”  It’s one syllable; he has no idea how Grant can make it say so much.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, thumbing at the disconnect button before he sounds like even more of an idiot.  He smushes his face into the pillow, wonders for a moment how hard it would be to just smother his idiot self already.  When his phone vibrates in his hand he nearly flails out of the bunk.  It’s a text message.

 _Did you mean it?_

He taps out a three-letter reply and hits Send before he can lose his nerve.  Then he turns his phone off and buries his face back in the pillow.  God, he’s such a fucking idiot.  Gerard’s going to _kill_ him for hanging up the phone, but he just - he doesn’t want to say it to a phone, and he really, really doesn’t want to hear it from a phone.  Not the first time.

As he stares blankly into the predawn darkness, another three-word phrase bounces around his head.   _One more day, one more day._

It takes Frank a while to fall back asleep. He finally does and it feels like just ten minutes later that Gerard is crawling into his bunk with him.

“Hey, Frankie,” Gerard murmurs into his neck. Frank groans and rubs his face, then turns over to face Gerard.

“Time?” Frank asks.

“We’ve been parked at the venue for a couple of hours, but early? Just wanted to know if you wanna go get breakfast with us,” Gerard says and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. Yeah, it’s like five after eight.”

“Ugh,” Frank groans again and squeezes his eyes tight shut. “Gimme a couple of minutes.”

“Uh, Frank, why do I have four texts from Grant from before five telling me to make sure you’re okay?” Gerard asks quietly. Frank’s stomach swoops unpleasantly and he swallows hard.

“Um.”

“What did you _do_ at four am?” Gerard doesn’t sound so much accusatory as genuinely baffled. The whole thing comes tumbling out. How Grant called and Frank opened his fucking mouth.

“The fucking _phone_ , Gee. I don’t. That’s not... so I hung up because I’m an asshole.” Frank stares through the gap in the curtains. He can’t look at Gerard, but Gerard grabs his hand and laces their fingers together.

“Frankie,” Gerard murmurs and Frank finally meets his eyes. It’s dim, but Frank can still see that there’s a lot going on there, but mostly he’s got that look on his face that says he loves Frank a lot. “I’ll call him later and let him know you’re okay.”

Frank nods miserably. “It’s just. The way he said my _name_. And I hung up on him.” Frank rolls into Gerard’s arms. “I’m such a fucking jerk.”

“Sometimes,” Gerard says and runs a hand up Frank’s back and into his hair. “Know what cures feeling like a jerk? Coffee with your family and friends.”

Frank snorts into his neck and bites down a little bit. “Well, I can’t get out of here with you in the way.”

They get breakfast and drink a ridiculous amount of coffee before it’s finally late enough that they can check into their hotel. Frank hops into the shower as soon as they get in the room. He wishes he could just crawl in bed and sleep for another few hours, but they have an interview scheduled soon and a couple more things after that and then they’ll need to eat again and do soundcheck and god, Frank’s glad they have a full day ahead of them. It’ll make it go faster and also keep his mind off things.

When he gets out of the shower, he hears Gerard talking in the main room and decides to just stay in the bathroom until he’s quiet again. Which, yeah, he’s avoiding potential conversation with Grant, but he _needs_ the next time they talk to not be over the phone. He needs to be able to see Grant’s face and touch him and say all the things he wants to say without thousands of miles between them. When Frank finally exits the bathroom, he tries not to look too expectantly at Gerard. Gerard sees right through him, though.

“He says he’s glad you’re okay and that he’s counting the hours until he sees us again. He said he’d meet us at the house at around one or so,” Gerard says.  He grabs the towel around Frank’s waist and pulls him close, then tugs it loose and bends down to mouth at Frank’s dick.

“Fuck,” Frank gasps. “We really don’t have time for that.”

Gerard pouts at him.

“Seriously, Gee. You can give me all the blowjobs you want later.” Frank runs his fingers through Gerard’s hair then pulls away to get dressed. The sooner they get on with the day, the sooner it will be done. In less than twenty-four hours, they’ll be back in California, back to their dogs and their house, and Grant.

They spend some time hanging out with all the guys after the show; most of them will be headed back to L.A. too, of course, but with the holidays so close things are going to be crazy, and they won’t all be together again until January when they start prepping for Japan.  It’s probably a good thing they have a distraction.  Frank feels like otherwise he and Gerard might have spent the entire evening staring at each other in wide-eyed anticipation.

Not like they’re much better than that as it is; every time their hands brush together Frank feels electricity building from his fingers to his feet.  When they finally climb into bed, Frank shuffles close so he’s sharing Gerard’s pillow and stares at him for a minute before saying, “I can’t sleep.”

“You haven’t tried,” Gerard points out reasonably.  He’s got a point; Gerard’s the occasional insomniac, Frank’s the one who can sleep anywhere.  

“I _can’t_ , Gee.”

Gerard sighs and brushes Frank’s hair off his forehead.  “Stage fright, Frank?  In like twelve hours you’re going to be mad at yourself for letting this bother you, you know.”

“Easy for you to say,” Frank grumbles.

“I know it is, but it’s the truth.  We’re gonna go home, Frankie, and it’s gonna be great.  I promise.”  He sighs again, but exaggerated this time.  “I suppose I’ll just have to distract you.”  He slides down Frank’s body to mouth at Frank’s cock, and this time Frank doesn’t stop him, just curls a hand into his hair and holds on.  It’s an effective distraction after all.

*

Cross-country flights suck.  They suck a lot.  At least going to the west coast means gaining time.  Frank has a feeling that in a few hours, he’s going to want a lot of time.  At least if he’s spending five hours stuck in a flying metal tube, he’s spending it in business class, tucked into the middle seat between Gerard and Mikey.  Gerard leans his head against the window and closes his eyes almost right away, but he holds Frank’s hand.  Mikey hands Frank one of his earbuds and cues up the most recent playlist Frank made for him before going back to his Batman trade.  Frank closes his eyes and tries to zone out.

Before Frank knows it, they’re deplaning and heading for the baggage claim.  He finally dozed off, ended up drooling onto Gerard’s shoulder for a couple hours and woke up groggy-headed when they began their final descent into LAX.  He’s shuffling along the hallway now, staring fixedly at Toro’s broad shoulders in front of him and trying not to think about how long it’s going to take them to get home.  He hears someone say, “Claim Three,” and follows Ray, nearly running into him when he slows down and makes what sounds suspiciously like an “Awww” noise.  Then Mikey makes it, too, and Frank’s looking around for a dog or something before he hears Gerard.  

Gerard says, “Grant?” and gropes behind him for Frank’s hand.  Frank clings tight, lets Gerard tug him out from behind Ray and then he sees it too, a familiar figure in white pants and a suit jacket, standing with his hands in his pockets at the end of Claim Three and looking their way.

“Oh,” Frank whispers.  “Oh.”  He’s vaguely aware of the guys hanging back a few steps, and of Gerard squeezing his fingers and slipping his backpack off his shoulder, but he really doesn’t have eyes for anyone else for the last twenty or so feet.

Grant looks from Frank to Gerard, and he does that thing that he does where he rubs his hand over his head and grins.  He’s practically glowing.  “I couldn’t wait,” he says softly.

Frank can’t breathe at all, and if he keels over right here in the baggage claim it’ll seriously fuck up his plans for the rest of the day, so he forces himself to take a few deep breaths and then reaches for Grant.  “I couldn’t sleep,” he whispers back, tucking his face against Grant’s chest.  Grant puts a thumb under Frank’s chin and lifts his head back up and god, his eyes.  He’s so fucking beautiful.  “I love you,” Frank tells him, and really, in the end it’s just as easy as that.

“I love you too,” Grant says, his eyes tracking from Frank’s face to where Gerard is standing, hand hovering at the small of Frank’s back.

“So fucking much,” Gerard adds, and then Grant’s leaning down to touch his lips to Frank’s.

“So much,” Grant repeats before brushing their lips together.  Frank curls his hands in Grant’s shirtfront and holds him close.  They stay that way until the buzzer starts sounding for the conveyor belt, then he runs his fingers through Frank’s hair, kisses him softly one more time, and says, “Let’s get your things and I’ll drive us all home.”

Home sounds really fucking good.

Gerard stayed a step back the whole time they were in the airport, but when they stop alongside Grant’s car in the parking garage Grant backs him up against the car door and kisses him quick and dirty.  “Can’t neglect you,” he murmurs.

Gerard laughs.  “Wasn’t worried,” he teases.  “We have plenty of time now, anyway.”  They load the bags into the car and Gerard climbs into the back seat, leaving the front for Frank.  Frank shoots him a look between the front seats and Gerard just grins and crooks a finger until Frank leans toward him.  Gerard kisses him and whispers, “Today’s for you, baby.”

“For us,” Frank protests, frowning a little, and Gerard smiles and pushes a hand through his hair.

“Always for us.  Just behave and let us do this for you, okay?”

Frank narrows his eyes.  “You know what happens when you tell me to behave.”

Gerard laughs again.  “What about when it’s Grant?”  Frank shivers a little, and Gerard just laughs more, and Frank really hates him.  Except for how he really doesn’t.  Grant gets in the car then and lifts his eyebrow at the two of them, Gerard cackling gleefully in the back seat and Frank glaring, and he doesn’t say anything, just wraps a hand around the back of Frank’s neck and pulls him in.  Frank opens his mouth immediately, and Grant doesn’t stop kissing him until he’s whimpering in the back of his throat.  He’s still panting a little when Grant backs them out of the parking space and starts winding his way outside, and Frank’s mouth goes dry looking at his profile.  It’s still gonna be a long drive.  

Frank watches Grant the entire drive–even when they get stuck in traffic on the 110 because it’s raining like a motherfucker and everyone in L.A. loses their fucking minds at even the tiniest hint of rain–and listens to Grant and Gerard talk. He lets their words float around him; their crazy ideas, their fucking incredible _minds_ amaze him. He has to turn his head and grin out the window. He feels Grant’s hand squeeze his thigh and he turns back around to smile.

“It always rains when we fly in to L.A.  I think the weather hates us,” Frank says. They’re at a standstill, horns blaring around them. Frank rolls his eyes because seriously. This is ridiculous.

“I find that unlikely, but in the future you may want to refrain from complaining abut it, just in case,” Grant says seriously. His eyes are sparkling, though.

The funny thing is that he’s not even impatient anymore. Well, he is in a certain sense. He’d _like_ to be home, to see his dogs, to probably get laid. Those things all sound really fucking good, but at least he’s finally with both of the people he loves most.

It takes them almost an hour and a half to get to their house, including traffic and a quick stop at their favorite Thai place for takeout, and the second they open the door, Mama and Sinatra are on them. Frank laughs and goes down on his knees, wraps his arms around Sinatra, while Mama climbs into his lap. Gerard crouches down beside him and scratches behind Sinatra’s ears and murmurs questions about how well the neighbor kid did taking care of them as if he can respond in a language Gerard can understand. It’s kind of adorable.

He feels Grant’s hand on his head, carding through his hair, and looks up at him and grins. “It’s really good to be home,” Frank says and lets Grant pull him up into his arms. Grant buries his fingers in Frank’s hair and just stares at his face.

“I love you,” Grant says, stroking his thumbs along Frank’s temples.

Frank wraps his arms around Grant’s waist and takes a deep breath. “I love you, too.”

It sounds really fucking good, every time.  It feels even better.

Gerard straightens up from his crouch and leans in to kiss the side of Frank’s head.  “Why don’t you let the dogs out quick, baby,” he says.  “I’ll get the takeout ready so we can eat before it gets cold.”  Frank kisses him back quickly and goes to the back door, whistling for the dogs.  Grant trails along behind him, tracing his fingers up and down Frank’s spine as Frank leans in the doorway, watching Mama pick her way down the wet steps and Sinatra tear through the shrubbery.

There had been a moment, before they left LAX, when Frank would have cheerfully christened the back seat of Grant’s car just to get his hands on Grant.  The rain and the traffic had worked together to push back the urgency into something manageable.  He’s still thinking about it now, but it’s a slow burn this time.  And really, he’s okay with that.

Frank and Gerard are still on East Coast time, so they’re starving.  Grant chats idly to them, carrying the conversation and picking at his own food while they eat.  Mama goes and curls up on her dog bed, but Sinatra, freshly toweled off from his expedition into the yard, begs for scraps.  Gerard has developed a heart of stone, so Sinatra puts his head on Grant’s leg and gives him the big eyes.  If Grant’s sneaking him bites, he’s doing it while Frank’s looking the other direction, and when Frank raises an eyebrow at him, he just laughs. Apparently Frank returns his focus to his Drunken Noodles at exactly the wrong time.

“Grant!” Gerard sounds completely exasperated. Grant’s face is the picture of innocence, which, of course, means he’s totally guilty, and Sinatra is licking his chops. “Ugh, you’re both impossible.”

Frank tries–for all of two seconds, but he does _try_ –not to laugh. But then the giggles are erupting from him. Gerard crosses his arms over his chest and glares at both of them, but his poker face sucks when he’s not talking to reporters so he breaks into a smile.

“I can’t even stay mad at you,” Gerard grumbles.

Grant smirks over at Gerard, “Sorry, love. I find myself quite susceptible to begging.”

Frank bites his lip, then takes another bite of his noodles. Grant’s hand grips his thigh under the table and Frank shivers.

“Okay, I guess I was done eating anyway,” Frank says to his food and looks up at Grant, pushing his hair out of his face and behind his ear. He licks his lips. Grant pushes back from the table, takes Frank’s hands, and pulls him up, looks straight into his eyes.

“Gerard, I believe it’s time to take Frank back to the bedroom.” Grant tugs on Frank’s hands and backs away from the table and toward the hall.

“I really agree,” Gerard says and Frank hears him get up from the table, feels him following close behind. They’re halfway down the hall when Frank suddenly finds himself pressed against the wall, Grant’s thigh between his legs.  His hands are everywhere for a few moments, then they settle in his hair.

Grant’s eyes track all over his face, then he leans in and murmurs in Frank’s ear, “I’m so glad you’re home.” Grant places a soft kiss just below his ear, then drags his lips up Frank’s jaw. The kiss is so fucking incredible, Frank can hardly stand it. Grant’s hands move to his shoulders, then his hips, and he pushes his body even further into Frank’s. Frank clutches him back, feeling kind of overwhelmed and definitely weak in the knees.

“Bed. Bedroom,” he gasps. Grant nods, pulling away. Frank feels cold with him gone. Gerard is leaning against the opposite wall, staring at them, looking totally turned on. Frank can see his hard-on straining his jeans. Frank wants to kiss him, grope him through his pants, but he’s pretty sure if he does, they’ll end up fucking in the hallway and that isn’t what he wants, so he pushes off the wall and walks into the bedroom, Grant and Gerard trailing behind him.

It's Gerard who touches him next, spinning him around and backing him up until his legs hit the mattress and he goes down.  Gerard's on him immediately, tongue tangling with Frank's as he presses him into the sheets, dick riding the crease of Frank's thigh.  Frank could get off exactly like this - has gotten off exactly like this, coming in his pants like a teenager with Gerard on top of him urging him along. Gerard's not urgent today though; the movements of his body, like his hands on Frank's clothes, are slow and deliberate.  Frank wriggles the best he can to help things along, shedding his long and short-sleeved tees, kicking out of his jeans, fumbling for Gerard's clothing as well.  He gets Gerard's shirt shoved up around his armpits and when Gerard sits up to pull it over his head, Grant fists a hand in Gerard's hair and bends him back for a kiss.  Even that's not urgent, just forceful.  Frank whines, hips lifting up against Gerard's. Gerard lets out a groan against Grant's mouth and ruts back down against Frank, but when Grant lets go of him he rolls to the side.  It leaves Frank naked and hard on the bed, Grant hovering above him just looking and looking.

“Grant,” Frank whines. He wants Grant naked, wants him to use his fingers instead of his eyes. Grant smirks down at him and slips out of his clothes. Frank relishes every inch of newly naked skin and Gerard makes appreciative noises beside him. Just like with everything else so far, Grant’s movements aren’t hurried at all. He’s finally completely undressed, his clothes folded neatly on the chair.

Grant sits at the foot of the bed and places a hand on Frank’s left calf, traces the tattoos there, It should tickle more than it does. Somehow Grant just makes it sexy. Makes his fucking _calves_ feel like erogenous zones.

“Grant,” Frank whines again because it’s not enough. He’ll never get enough.

Grant chuckles. “You’re going to beg all the time now that you know how easy I am for it, aren’t you?”

“As if I didn’t already know that,” Frank says with a breathless laugh. “Besides, you’re the one doing things to _make_ me beg.”

“Mmm,” Grant concedes and runs his hand up over Frank’s knee and onto his thigh. Frank squirms.  Gerard reaches out and places his hand over Grant’s and Frank squirms more. Again.

"Please," Frank says and Grant leans down and runs his lips up Frank's hips, across his belly, and wraps them around his nipple and sucks, while Gee rolls the other between his fingers.  Frank arches up and moans.  Grant bites down gently, and Frank shudders and wriggles against the sheets.  

He feels Gerard shift beside him, hair brushing against Frank's side as his mouth searches out the swallows low on Frank's hips.  He traces the lines of the ink with his tongue, running his teeth along the jut of Frank's hipbone.  This is something else Gerard can do for hours.  He's pretty sure Grant would too, but Grant's pushing himself up and leaning in to kiss Frank on the lips.  "I like the way you sound," he says.  His accent is thick, like it is when he's tired.  Like it is when he's turned on.  "When you say please.  Like you've never needed anything more."  His mouth heads back down, pauses to suck a hickey into Frank's throat.  Frank gasps at the sensation, the tingle and the edge of pain.

"I haven't," Frank groans.  "Ever.  Just you, both of you."  He reaches out a hand blindly, searching for Gerard, finds a handful of messy hair and runs his fingers through it.  

"Good."  Grant sounds possessive and so fucking smug and Frank loves it, god.  Gerard echoes him a moment later.

"I love you," Frank tells them.  "So much, fuck, please please just don't stop."  He hisses as Gerard closes a hand around his cock, gives him a few lazy strokes.  

"Just getting started," Grant tells him.  He kisses Frank again, lingering for a moment, then pushes back and nudges at Gerard's shoulder until Gerard lifts his head and leans in for his own kiss.  "I missed you too," he tells Gerard softly.  "In case I'm neglecting to make that clear."

"I got the message," Gerard laughs.

“I’m glad.” Grant runs his fingers along Gerard’s jaw and down his throat. Frank sees the shiver run all over Gerard. It makes him shiver too.

Grant leans down and swipes his tongue across the words on Frank’s thigh. He likes to think that he’s doing a pretty good job of living up to that most of the time. If tomorrow _were_ his last day, he’d have no regrets.

It’s not something he can focus on for long. Not with Grant’s tongue and lips and fingers mapping his body. Not with Gerard picking up the slack on his other side, with his tongue tracing the broken heart on Frank’s wrist and then the Frankenstein stitches that meet it. He moves up Frank’s arm, running along the Lady, and up Frank’s shoulder and moving to his chest. And then both of them are touching every line on his chest with their tongues or fingers or lips. Frank scrunches his eyes shut and bites his lip. They keep going. From head to foot, only avoiding Frank’s cock. He can hardly bear it, except it feels fucking incredible.

“Turn over,” Grant orders and Frank is almost glad of the brief respite. He turns over and buries his face in his pillow. And then the both of them are working their mouths and hands over his back. The pumpkin, all the words, the art nobody but them ever sees, the guns crossed over his lower back. They’re actually doing this, claiming his tattoos as their own, putting their mouths on every single part of Frank’s body. Frank gasps and shudders and shakes.

And then Gerard’s tongue–he knows because he’s had nearly 10 years to memorize everything Gerard gives him–is sweeping lower than any of Frank’s tattoos. He spreads Frank’s ass wide and licks everywhere, over and over and over. Frank can’t help but thrust back a little bit, but Gerard takes it. Grant starts on the back of Frank’s calf and moves up. Frank shivers hard when Grant’s mouth works its magic over “destroy.” Frank can feel his tongue on every letter, before it touches the guns and works down the back of Frank’s thigh.

“Fuck. _Please_ ,” Frank begs.

Grant moves up and whispers in his ear, “You are a piece of artwork; we have to study each element carefully.”

Frank bites his lip and shudders. “ _Please_ ,” he repeats. Except instead of touching him more, they stop. Frank can hear them kissing and touching behind him. It’s almost too much. He tries to look over his shoulder, but his neck won’t stay in that position very long. He pants into the pillow, wanting so much more, yet not wanting to move, not wanting to stop them ever ever ever.

“Frankie,” Gerard murmurs into his back, the puff of his breath on his lower back. “ _Frank_.”

And then Grant works his way back up to Frank’s ear, holds him close, keeps his mouth on Frank’s neck and ears and everywhere. Frank has no idea how to move or what to say; it all feels fucking incredible and he doesn’t want it to stop. Except he really, really wants someone to fuck him at some point.

"Roll back over," Grant says softly into Frank's ear.  He doesn't wait, though, but rolls Frank himself, stretching out beside him and cradling Frank against his chest.  Frank feels the mattress dip as Gerard pushes himself up and leans over Frank to kiss Grant again.  

Frank can watch this time, and he does, sees Gerard caress Grant's cheek and Grant cup Gerard's shoulder to bring him closer.  "You're amazing," Gerard tells him when he pulls back.  "I just - I can't - there are no words."

"He loves you back, Gerard," Frank murmurs, because he knows what Gerard really means.  Gerard pulls back far enough to nuzzle against Frank's cheek, and Frank adds, "So do I, baby."  Gerard chuckles and kisses him, finally.

"Fucking duh," he says lightly, and Frank laughs too.  Then Gerard slides back down the bed, and when he returns he pushes at Frank's thigh to spread him wide and runs his fingers along the cleft of Frank's ass. Frank watches him, can't look away from how beautiful he is, the flush of color on his cheeks, the way he's biting his lip.  He's slicked his fingers, and the lube is cool and wet against his skin, Gerard's touch feather-light as he traces Frank's opening and then presses slowly inside.  

This is something else Gerard can do for ages: tease Frank with his fingers, his tongue, one of their collection of toys.  He's just using his fingers today, fucking them into Frank at the same leisurely pace that Grant's hand is moving, stroking up and down Frank's chest.  Grant's cock is pressing hard and heavy against Frank's hip, and Frank can get his wrist at just the right angle to reach down and close his hand around Grant's shaft.  Grant groans softly in his ear and reaches up, turning Frank's head to get at his mouth again.

"I love your hands," he says, biting down gently on Frank's lower lip, then soothing the mark with his tongue.  

"They love you," Frank tells him.  "Fuck, Grant, you - I - I want to touch you everywhere.  I want you inside me.  Please, just - something."  He's both wild for someone to touch his neglected cock and melting into the mattress of their bed.  Gerard's fingers inside him are sparking bursts of pleasure as they press against his prostate, Gerard's mouth moving on his knee, his free hand wrapped around Frank's thigh.

"Next time," Grant promises breathlessly, "I will still want your hands, and I promise to let you do whatever you like.  This time...."  He trails off, and Gerard looks over Frank's shoulder, then nods.  His fingers withdraw, and Frank doesn't even have time to protest, because Grant's moving away, shifting behind him, setting Frank's hand back on his own hip and lining up to push inside him.

He thrusts forward smoothly until their hips meet, pulling Frank back against him with an arm around his chest.  Frank lets out a breath and pushes back against him.  He feels huge and amazing, the stretch and slide sending little shocks of pleasure from nerve to nerve.  Frank feels like he's electrified, like he could shoot sparks from his fingers.  Gerard is knee-walking up the mattress and Frank reaches for him with both hands, tugging him down to lie face to face.  Grant shifts his hand from Frank's chest to his hip, holding him steady as he begins to move.  

Gerard's mouth finds Frank's, and as Frank's hand sinks into his hair Gerard presses closer until their cocks are riding together.  Frank gasps into the kiss, and Gerard groans a little and wraps a hand loosely around them both.  It makes things better and worse.  Better, because it feels so fucking good, Gerard's fingers familiar and sure.  Worse, because Frank can't decide whether to move with Grant or with Gerard, and because he might come before he can even figure it out.  

"Frankie," Gerard whispers.  "Just let go.  You don't have to work for this."

Frank takes a deep, shuddering breath and nods. He forces himself to relax against Grant, lets the two of them work together to move him where they want him. Soon they're all moving in sync, each press of Grant's hips urging Frank into Gerard's grip. Grant has his face buried in Frank's hair and neck, lips brushing his ear. Frank hears and feels every hitch in his breath. Frank has to reach back, put his hand on Grant's cheek and hold him there.

"Frank," Grant gasps and thrusts hard. Frank's eyes slip closed, but he forces them open to look at Gerard.

"Fuck," Gerard moans when Frank's hips slide hard against his again. "Fuck, you feel so good. Grant, doesn't he feel amazing?"

"Yesssss," Grant hisses and reaches around and wraps his own hand around Gerard and Frank. They moan in unison and Grant thrusts hard again, pressing Frank against Gerard and letting their dicks slide through his hand. After that, everything speeds up, but it feels like time slows down. Frank's ears are filled with their moans and harsh breathing and in that moment, he's pretty sure he's never heard anything better in his whole life.

It takes just a few more thrusts from Grant, a few more strokes of his cock next to Gerard's, and Frank is coming all over Grant's hand and Gerard and himself. Gerard follows seconds later, groaning and pressing as close to Frank as he can get, bringing their lips together and kissing frantically. Grant thrusts twice more and pulls Frank's hips back onto him one last time before coming. Frank moans again, loving the feel of it, loving Grant's fingers bruising his hips.

They lie panting for several minutes without moving much. Gerard's kisses become lazy, but he doesn't back away at all. Finally, Grant pulls out and Frank protests weakly. Grant chuckles against his neck and presses a kiss there, leans down for a kiss from Gerard, then rolls out of bed and goes into the bathroom. He returns shortly with a damp washcloth and cleans them up before crawling back in bed, pulling the covers up. Frank pulls Gerard close again.  Grant wraps his arms around them both.

It’s still light out when Frank wakes up, so he knows they didn’t sleep more than an hour or two. He lifts his head to check the clock, and he’s right; it’s only three. He yawns and stretches his arms up above his body, careful not to bump either of his companions. It’s not as hard as it could have been because Gerard rolled onto his stomach and is snoring quietly.  Grant’s still warm against Frank’s other side, propped up against the pillows.  “Mmm, you’re awake,” Grant murmurs. Frank squirms over so he’s facing Grant, slips an arm around his waist and smiles.

“Hey, we had an early start,” Frank whispers.  “You been sitting here awake the whole time?”  Grant smiles back and reaches up a hand to smooth the hair out of Frank’s face, but doesn’t pull his hand away when he’s done.

“I borrowed your book,” Grant whispers back, and Frank looks down, notices he’s reading a little paperback on German Expressionist films that Gerard had bought Frank a while ago, that had been abandoned on Frank’s bedside table.  “I didn’t want to wake you, but I didn’t want to go far.”  It’s so fucking sweet.  Frank can’t get over it.  Get over Grant just being - Grant.  “I love you,” Grant adds, apparently just to say it again, and Frank’s stomach swoops just like it has every time he’s heard those words from Grant so far. Just like it still does sometimes when Gerard is the one saying them.

“Love you too,” Frank replies and leans forward, brushing his lips against Grant’s. Grant wraps a hand around his neck and holds him there, kissing him slow and leisurely until Frank has to pull away to catch a breath.  He casts an eye around the bedroom, noting the little piles of abandoned clothes and stuff that Gerard had apparently deemed unnecessary during his packing frenzy.  Then he remembers the bags are still in Grant’s car, and he’s moved along to trying to remember what’s in the freezer when Grant tugs him back in for another kiss, a short one this time.

Grant smirks at him. “I suppose there’s no distracting you right now?  I can see that ‘I’m on a mission’ look in your eye.”

Frank rolls his eyes, but he ruins it by breaking into a grin. “If we don’t start the laundry now, we’ll forget about it for way too fucking long and I’d rather just get it over with. Your keys on the entry table?” Grant nods and Frank leans in to kiss him again. When he pulls back, he waves a hand over his shoulder and says, “Wake him up?”

“M’wake,” Gerard grumbles, his voice muffled by his pillow.

Frank giggles. “Okay, babe.” He rolls back over and drops a kiss on Gerard’s shoulder before scooting out of the covers and off the end of the bed. He rummages through his drawers and pulls on sweats and an old t-shirt. A glance behind him shows that Grant has pulled Gerard into his arms and is kissing him much like he kissed Frank a couple of minutes earlier. Frank tears his eyes away from them and goes out to the living room. He plays with Mama and Sinatra for a minute before grabbing Grant’s keys and heading out to get their bags from his car. Thank god the rain has lightened up a bit.

He gets the first load of laundry going and is making coffee and tea in the kitchen when Gerard and Grant wander in from the bedroom. Gerard looks sleepy and his hair is sticking up in every possible direction. He heads straight for Frank, wrapping his arms around Frank’s waist and backing him into the counter.

“I love you,” Gerard tells the skin of his neck.

“Of course you do, I’m making you coffee,” Frank snarks. Gerard bites lightly at Frank’s neck.

“Love you for more than coffee,” Gerard insists.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that.  You know you’re gonna have to let go of me if you want me to finish making it,” Frank says, and laughs when Gerard releases him immediately. Grant laughs too and pulls Gerard back against his chest. Frank just looks at them for a few moments before turning back to the coffeemaker. He measures out the grounds and then sets the tea kettle going.

They stay in the kitchen until everything is done brewing.  Gerard pokes through the cabinets  and makes a grocery list that Frank will inevitably have to edit, but eventually they all end up in the living room. Frank curls up in their over-sized leather chair with Mama beside him and his laptop in his lap so he can respond to some emails, the Expressionism paperback tucked between the cushions to read when he’s done. Gerard and Grant take the couch, Grant on one end with a notebook in his lap and his pen scratching out sketches and stories, while Gerard on the other end checks his email on his iPad. He reads an email from Gabriel aloud that has them all in stitches and missing the twins and then chatting about Comic Con, where they’ll probably see them next.

“It’s good to be home,” Frank says after a while. He smiles at the other two, then closes his laptop, and cracks open his book.


End file.
